Sixth Sense
by loobeyloo
Summary: Set after the episode Fortune Teller, Hawke receives a dinner invitation from Meg, the psychic who helped to find Archangel. Considering the way they reacted to each other it is the last thing he expects, so what is the real purpose behind the invitation?
1. Chapter 1

_Sixth Sense is an original story, inspired by the U.S. T.V. series AIRWOLF._

_Copyright refers to the author of this original material, and is not meant to supersede any copyrights held by Donald P Bellisario or any other persons or corporations holding rights to the television series AIRWOLF and its characters._

_Sixth Sense is a work of fiction and all character and some place names are the product of the author's imagination and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is entirely coincidental._

This story was originally posted as a short story focusing on tying up loose ends and exploring the relationship between Megan Ravenson and Stringfellow Hawke following their encounter in the episode Fortune Teller, and so I would like to take the opportunity to thank my good friend Elizabeth, for hinting that perhaps there was a bigger story and prodding me into developing this project further.

**_PROLOGUE._**

_**Los Angeles, California.**_

_**Octo**__**ber, 1985.**_

"Thanks for coming," Meg Ravenson eyed Stringfellow Hawke dubiously, as he raised his glass to his lips and took a sip of the foaming golden liquid.

Hawke had arrived at the restaurant before her and had ordered a small beer for himself.

When she had joined him at the bar, he had asked what she preferred to drink and had placed her order for a glass of the house sweet white wine with the bartender, and despite the fact that he had been polite and gracious, making small talk while they waited for her drink, and then to be seated at their table, since the moment she had arrived he had been watching her, like the proverbial hawk.

She had been the one to issue the invitation, and if she was honest with herself, psychic or no, Megan wasn't sure why she had wanted, no, _**needed**_, to see Stringfellow Hawke again, except that she hadn't been able to get him out of her mind.

There had just been something about the young man.

They had spent barely two days together, but Meg knew, for all sorts of reasons, they were days that she would not forget in a hurry, and that Stringfellow Hawke wasn't a man she would ever be likely to forget.

She couldn't give it a name back then, but despite his adverse reaction to her, she could not help feeling that they were kindred spirits.

She wasn't done with him.

She had found that idea most disagreeable.

But she hadn't been able to ignore it either.

That wasn't how her gift worked. Try to ignore it, and it just kept prodding away at her, driving her crazy until she did something about it.

She couldn't shake the feeling that her association with him was far from over.

After picking her way through his powerful and very negative emotions, Meg had come away from their association with the undeniable knowledge that he wasn't so very different from her self, and like her, he was doing the best he could to live from day to day.

Of course, Stringfellow Hawke's attitude hadn't helped any, waves of anger and hostility and cynicism flooding off him and bombarding her throughout their whole brief association, making it even harder for her to get at the information that she needed to do her job.

Megan had been hoping that once they had a chance to meet in a more relaxed setting, she would get some thing more concrete to work with, stronger 'vibes' ….

But, it looked very much like they were back to square one.

So, why had Hawke agreed to meet with her?

Stringfellow Hawke sat quietly in his seat, trying to relax as he regarded his companion coolly.

He had been intrigued by her invitation, after all, they hadn't exactly gotten off to the best of starts.

However, the fact that he had so readily accepted that invitation had surprised him even more.

So, why was he here? What did he hope to gain by it? What was the real reason behind her invitation?

He had asked himself those questions over and over, all day long, and still he had no concrete answers.

He had just felt compelled to accept the invitation, a fact that he had found very unsettling.

It had been a couple of days since they had ended their association, but, watching him now, Megan could tell from his whole demeanor, his body language, that Hawke was still just as distrustful and unconvinced.

He was trying very hard to conceal it, but she could see from the tight expression on his face, and the cold, hard, piercing stare of his deep blue eyes that he was both hostile and uncomfortable, that he feared that she would do or say something to draw unwanted attention, or perhaps embarrass or humiliate him, and Megan knew that it would not take much in the way of provocation for him to blow up, and cause a nasty scene of his own.

_**Oh boy! **_He wasn't going to make this easy for her, but at least he was here.

"I thought maybe …." Megan left the sentence hanging between them, and in response Hawke arched an eyebrow sardonically.

"You thought maybe I wouldn't show up?" he finished the sentence for her in a deep growling voice.

"Yes," she confessed, fingers playing nervously with the twisted stem of her wineglass. "And no, I don't need to be a psychic to know that you would rather be any other place, with any other woman, than here with me," she added with a soft sigh, lowering her blue grey eyes now, disabusing him of any notion that he might have had that she had some kind of romantic liaison in mind.

Meg experienced a brief flash of satisfaction when she again raised her eyes and saw that he at least had the decency to look a little shame faced.

She might not like it, but she admired his honesty.

Stringfellow Hawke had made his feelings about her so called 'psychic ability' and what he thought about her too, very clear, when they had worked together.

However, his whole attitude, his total over reaction had puzzled Meg.

It still puzzled her.

For starters, he wasn't what he seemed.

Oh yes, he presented the world with this hard, austere, cold, impenetrable facade, coming across as tough and macho and seeing the world only in black and white, but Megan knew better.

He hid it well, but, Stringfellow Hawke was a deeply sensitive man, caring, compassionate, affection and fiercely protective of the people and the things that he cared about.

Stringfellow Hawke was an enigma wrapped up in a dilemma, a mystery far too complex for her to solve after such a short acquaintance.

So why hadn't she just been able to walk away?

Put him out of her mind and get on with her life?

Her dear old friend Dominic Santini had sought her out, begging with her to help him and his skeptical young friend, Stringfellow Hawke, to find a friend of theirs, a very important man.

They didn't have much time, and didn't know where to begin to look for the man they had called Archangel, and despite the fact that she had originally turned them down flat, Megan had sensed that they were not exaggerating when they had said that their friend was in grave danger.

Dominic had been his usual sweet, persuasive self. He had seen her work before. He knew that it wasn't a logical process, knew how it tore her apart, that sometimes it was hard for her to define what she saw or felt or heard and that when the answers didn't come, or they came too late, it broke her heart.

Stringfellow Hawke, a serious and intense young man, had been openly hostile from the beginning, which hadn't helped her to focus, but, at least it had been honest.

Meg hated working with people who said that they understood, that they had open minds, only to try to undermine her and destroy her credibility at every turn.

At least Stringfellow Hawke hadn't tried to hide his contempt, although, she had realized immediately that it was because he knew that he had no other conventional options.

Still, after a while, his manner had irritated her, and she too had let her emotions get the better of her, and they had clashed. Badly.

It had been hard work, but, eventually, Meg had proved herself to Hawke, and justified Dominic Santini's faith in her, their friend had been located and rescued, in the nick of time, and Meg had sensed, when they parted, that although she hadn't completely won him over, she had certainly given Stringfellow Hawke something to think about, when she had told him that his dog's name was Tet.

During the search for Archangel, Meg had kept getting images of a Scottish terrier dog and had found it amusing that a man like Hawke would have such a cute canine for a pet. She had voiced that thought aloud, only to have Dominic Santini tell her that String didn't have a Scottish terrier, but on old blue tick hound.

Obviously, in the interim, cynic that he was, Hawke had probably come to the conclusion that she had somehow gleaned the animal's name from Dominic Santini.

Still, Megan had thought that they had at least broken the ice.

Hawke had seemed to soften a little toward her, but, sitting opposite her now, at their candle lit table for two in a secluded corner of this small restaurant, with its soft lighting and low romantic music playing in the background, that she had deliberately chosen because it was neutral territory, well away from her home, and Van Nuys Airport, where Hawke worked with Dominic Santini, Meg could feel the tension and hostility radiating off Stringfellow Hawke once more.

He was wound up like a spring.

She caught him glancing down at his wristwatch, briefly, and wondered if he had merely come here this evening to humor her, so that she would leave him alone in the future, and that maybe he had made other plans for after their meeting, or, if he was simply impatient and wanted this over and done with so that he could get away from her.

Meg raised her glass to her lips now and taking a sip of the cool, refreshing wine, regarded Hawke curiously.

_**He was a good looking young fellow, when he wasn't scowling.**_ She found herself thinking.

She knew that he had a devastating smile, and that he could be as charming as any other man she had met, when he set his mind to it.

Contrary to the impression he preferred to give, he did have a sense of humor too.

Megan also knew that there was a deep rooted pain and sorrow somewhere in his past that he had not been able to move beyond, and which was still affecting him, even today, and suddenly, there _**it **_was again. That _**feeling**_.

"I …."

"Meg …."

They spoke together, over each other, then grinning nervously at each other, each waited for the other to speak again.

"Hawke," Meg began, finding herself feeling very unsettled as she looked into his beautiful sky blue eyes.

It was never easy, trying to decide what to say, how far to go. People reacted in different ways, although she suspected that she knew exactly how Stringfellow Hawke was going to react.

"Look, Hawke, I guess I just wanted a chance to apologize. I know I came on a little heavy," she paused, licking her lips nervously before continuing, very much aware of his cold, unfriendly glare. "You have every right to your opinion. It's just that at the time, I couldn't seem to get past your cynicism," she reminded him in soft tones.

His undisguised hostility and blatant skepticism had been like a physical thing, a barrier blocking the very senses that she needed to call upon to help him and Dominic Santini.

His constant referral to her as 'lady', with that condescending tone of voice and twisting little sneer to his lips, instead of using her name, or even a polite 'ma'am, had ground on her nerves and his tendency to resist, to instantly dismiss anything that came out of her mouth, had made her as mad as hell.

His impatience, his strong, overbearing personality and his determination not to even try to understand had overwhelmed her, and finally, she had snapped.

Ok, so he didn't believe. That was his right.

She hadn't asked to get involved, but, once she was, Megan Ravenson had known that no matter how difficult it was, no matter how painful it was to her personally, she simply could not walk away.

Stringfellow Hawke might be the most offensive and arrogant and mule headed jackass she had ever met, but she was just as stubborn and determined, just as dogged and tenacious and she wanted to find their friend just as badly as they did.

Just because she went about it in a different way, didn't mean that it was wrong. It didn't mean that he had the right to belittle her, ridicule her and generally try to put her down.

She had no idea how her gift worked, and she did not claim to be perfect.

Sometimes she made mistakes, misunderstood or misread the signs, after all, it wasn't always logical, and in no way could it be called scientific. She could only describe what she saw, or felt, the way she saw and felt it, and quite often it was just a jumble of confusing images and sensations, that most of the time she didn't have the right words to describe, but, when someone came to her seeking help, she always took it very seriously, and she always tried to do her best not to let them down.

Basically, Stringfellow Hawke had openly challenged her authenticity, indeed, he had practically called her a charlatan and she had taken it as a deep, personal insult, for the man had no idea the heartache and torment that she went through in the process of trying to help others.

The only way that she could think of to get him off her back had been to open herself up to him, something she usually tried to avoid because she already had enough pain and disappointment and grief in her own life, without taking on board other people's miseries, but she had wanted to prove to him that she was no fake, and over wrought and angrier than she had been in a long time, she had said some things in haste, that under normal circumstances she might have kept to herself.

He didn't need her to tell him about the ghosts that he carried around with him, and he hadn't appreciated her telling him that he should let go of some of them, so that he could get on with living his life.

"I'm sorry," she told him sincerely now.

"No, Meg, I'm the one who's sorry," Hawke emitted a huge, shoulder raising sigh now, his expression softening, just a little. "You had every right to react the way you did," he confessed. "After all, I was down right rude to you," he added, lowering his eyes briefly, recalling that he had indeed been rude, and pretty rough on her too, and even now he didn't really understand why he had reacted so violently against her.

"My only excuse is that I guess I must have left my tact and sensitivity in my other pants, along with my good manners and my best behavior," he raised his eyes and gave her a wry half smile now, then dropped his head, suddenly bashful, as he reached out to take another small sip of his cold beer. "I don't know what got into me. I'm not usually so …." his voice trailed away as he raised his eyes to her once more.

"Aggressive? Dismissive? Resistant? Hostile?" Meg supplied for him, suddenly finding herself grinning back at Hawke as he nodded his head in agreement with her. "I could have been a bit more tactful," she conceded softly. "It's just that I couldn't figure out your attitude. You came to me for help, then deliberately went out of your way to sneer and dismiss and debunk. Almost as though you wanted me to fail, just so you could gloat about it."

"We were running out of time, and your hostility was muddying the waters, preventing me from doing what you had asked, to help you, and I guess I just got so mad because I knew how worried you and Dominic really were, and that your friend was in real danger. I knew that if I didn't find a way to make you back off, we would never find him."

"I know, Meg, and for what it's worth, I'm glad you stood up to me. I'm still not sure we would have found Michael, if it hadn't been for you," Hawke confided gently now. "You did what you had to do," he threw her a questioning look now, and Meg frowned at him.

Did he think she had bluffed him? Conned him?

Did he think that she had just taken a wild guess about those ghosts he carried around with him? That she had played on his emotions? That she had just told him something to simply shut him up?

"I know what you do can't be easy. I know it's not an exact science. I can't begin to understand how it works, but now that I've seen it, I understand a little better. It's not just something that you _**do**_, it's something that you _**really feel**_, and then to have to try to deal with idiots like me."

"I just get so sick and tired of always being on the defensive, of always having to try to justify myself," Meg sighed deeply, eyeing him curiously.

Oh yes, he was saying all the right things, but she could see in his eyes that he didn't really believe.

He was simply trying to mollify her.

"I didn't ask for this gift, Hawke, and believe me there are more days when I think it's more of a curse than days when I consider myself lucky to have the gift. It is a heavy burden to carry," she used his words to her now. "I'm only the interpreter, and most of the time, I don't seem to be able to find the right words," she sighed softly. "I know I sound crazy, but that's just the way it works. Tell it like it is," she threw him a rueful smile now. "Even if I run the risk of being carried off in a straight jacket."

Hawke smiled back at her, but he was far from relaxed. He knew that he had acted like a jerk, and he did feel ashamed of his behavior, even if he still couldn't explain the cause of it.

There was something reticent about her, and he found that most disconcerting.

She hadn't allowed him to get away with his high handed manner, setting him straight in no uncertain terms, but now, she seemed a little withdrawn and subdued.

Hawke was certain that she had something on her mind, something that she was finding hard to broach, and he had a horrible sinking feeling in his stomach that he knew exactly what she was going to say to him.

_**So now who's the psychic?**_ He thought to himself sarcastically.

"And I don't always like the things I learn in the process," Megan let out a deep, shaky breath now. "But I can't pick and choose what I see. I don't like seeing into peoples' lives, seeing their deepest fears, their darkest secrets," She paused to draw in a soft breath. "I don't always let on about the things I learn either," she confessed, and now it was Hawke's turn to frown, leading Meg to wonder if she was wandering into dangerous territory.

"People don't always need to know," she pressed on. "Other's don't want to know. It's enough for them to know that someone else is aware of their pain and their grief."

Hawke's expression remained tight, his eyes glinting ominously, but he gave her an almost imperceptible nod of understanding.

"Tell me, Hawke, why are you so skeptical? Why were you so eager to shoot me down in flames every chance you got? Why are you so determined not to believe? Surely you know that you have a gift too?"

Even as she finished speaking, Meg had no idea how she suddenly knew that, but was also certain that it was true.

This drew a sharp look from Stringfellow Hawke, making him start in his chair.

The look of surprise on his handsome face quickly morphed into a dark, dangerous scowl, but now that she had started, Megan had no intention of stopping.

"Oh yes, you have a gift too," she plowed on, ignoring the warning look in those deep sky blue eyes, a thrill of excitement running down her spine as she finally understood what it was that had been bothering her about Hawke. "That acute sense of hearing of yours …."

Now Stringfellow Hawke's beautiful blue eyes grew wider in astonishment.

"And that heightened sense of danger. That funny little tingle you get that lets you know that something isn't quite right. That someone isn't to be trusted. Call it 'gut instinct' intuition, whatever you like, it's a sixth sense that not everyone has Hawke, but you trust in it, because it's saved your life many times," she told him with absolute certainty now.

Stringfellow Hawke was staring at her with open mouthed astonishment now, and Meg could not help smiling softly back at him.

"You see, String, your dog's name isn't the only thing I know about you," Whispering now, she leaned across the table, wondering if she was pushing her luck with him, just a little too far, as she watched his mouth swiftly close, lips compressing together in a thin, angry line.

"I guess you're talking about those ghosts I carry around with me, again?" Hawke hissed back through clenched teeth, his blue eyes sparkling with anger again, and Megan immediately pulled back, sitting up straight in her chair as she reached out for her glass to take another sip of her wine.

She knew that he was volatile, had expected a strong reaction from him, that was why she had chosen a very public place to talk with him, in the hope that it would temper his hostility and anger.

"Did you see all my deepest fears? My darkest secrets?" Hawke snarled, his blue eyes hard chips of ice, his face set in a grim mask of barely controlled rage.

"Maybe," she gave a soft sigh, raising her eyes to him once more. "People have the wrong idea about me, about what it is that I do. I already told you, I'm not a witch. I don't do spells or incantations, or go off into a trance. I'm not a con artist, cashing in on people's grief and vulnerability either. I do what I do, to help people but, my job isn't just about the dead, String," this drew another sharp look from Hawke. "I'm here to help the living too," she explained gently.

"When I called and asked you to dinner, I didn't know why I wanted to see you again. I just knew that I had to, that there was something important that I had to tell you. I still didn't know what that was, until a moment ago," she confessed, lowering her eyes to her wine, briefly, before looking back up at him once more.

"When we were working together, I got some impressions off you," she explained, knowing that again the real words she needed to explain to him what she had felt were eluding her. "Not very strong impressions, because all that negative stuff you were throwing off was interfering, but, one of them was that, although you deny it, dismiss it as just one of those things, you're not so very different from me. You have a gift too, and I think the reason I couldn't get you out of my mind is because I have to tell you that you must go on trusting that 'gut instinct'."

Now Hawke was regarding her with a mixture of barely controlled anger, and curiosity, and for one awful moment Meg feared that the anger would win out and he would get up and leave.

"I think it's because I need to tell you that whatever it is your gut is telling you about your brother," Meg rushed on. "You have to go on believing it."

"My brother?" Hawke spat out incredulously now, his eyes fizzing with rage.

"Sinjin." She pronounced the unusual name very carefully and Hawke stared at her, his eyes suddenly demanding to know what it was she thought she knew about his brother. "Oh, I don't know anything specific, Hawke," she told him honestly. "But I do know this, he isn't one of the ghosts I told you about." and now there was conviction and absolute certainty in her voice and in her eyes, as she steadily held his startled blue gaze.

Hawke's reaction spoke very clearly to Megan.

It told her that her words were not what he had been anticipating, and suddenly, she understood the reason why he had reacted to her in the way that he had.

It all made sense now.

That 'gut instinct', that intuition, that unquantifiable something that warned him of impending danger, alerted him that something was not right, that allowed him to judge whether a person was quite all they seemed, had kicked in as soon as he had laid eyes on her.

That inexplicable feeling, that undeniable yet indescribable _**sense,**_ that awareness that he had come to rely on, that he had trusted his life to over the years had suddenly overwhelmed him, and he had known all along that Megan Ravenson was no fraud.

He had known instinctively that she was the real deal, and suddenly he had been afraid that she might tell him that the one thing that kept him going, that ensured that he carried on from day to day, his unshakeable belief that his brother was still alive, was a lie.

He had been terrified that she would tell him that he had been clinging to a false hope all these years, that indeed, his brother really was dead and gone.

He did not want to believe that she really had the gift.

He wanted to dismiss her as a fraud. That way, he could disbelieve, and dismiss anything that she might tell him about his own situation.

"He's alive?" Hawke choked out in a low, ragged voice, eyes boring into her.

"Seek and ye shall find," Meg smiled gently at Hawke as she reached out across the table for his hand, lightly squeezing his strong, tan fingers with her own, neither confirming nor denying anything.

"Is he alive!" Hawke demanded harshly, his strong fingers suddenly curling around her slender wrist, biting into the delicate flesh.

"I already told you, I don't know anything concrete," Meg bit into her bottom lip to stop herself from crying out in pain. "I can't tell you where to find him, Hawke, only that you have to keep looking. Seek and ye shall find. Trust in your instincts. You can't explain to anyone why it is that you feel so strongly that he is still alive. But you do," she told him with conviction.

"Yes, I do," Hawke released her wrist when he noticed the wince of pain on her face now. "He's my brother. I would _**know**_. I would _**feel**_ it. If he was gone. Dead," he drew in a deep, ragged breath, feeling shame flood through him as he watched Megan Ravenson gently rub at her sore wrist. "I don't know why I feel that way, every one says he's dead, all the evidence points to it being true, but somehow …."

"You _**know**_ he's alive," Megan whispered, her blue eyes soft with understanding as she took in the anguish in his eyes now.

"Yes," Hawke confessed.

"Then keep doing what you're doing. Don't give up," Despite the fact that only a few moments before he had hurt her, Meg reached out to take his hand in her own once more, squeezing it reassuringly. "Yes, you have ghosts. We all do, Hawke. We all have people, things that haunt us, but, for what it's worth, I don't have any sense of Sinjin in that way, not like the others," she told him honestly, meeting his gaze with steady eyes.

"The others?" Hawke choked.

"The people you love. Your parents, Carrie Ann, Gabrielle …."

Meg stopped when she saw him flinch, saw the pain, and then the anger and distrust return to his eyes, saw that his first thought was that she had somehow prized the information out of Dominic Santini, and she let out a soft, wistful sigh.

Just for a moment, she had thought that she had gotten through to him.

"They are still around you, watching over you, loving you as they always did, and blaming yourself for their deaths, not living your life to the fullest, is hurting them too. They want nothing more than for you to be happy, Stringfellow, and that means letting go," she gave his hand another gentle squeeze. "Let them go. Move on, so that they can move on too. So that you can all find some peace at last."

It was good advice, but Megan Ravenson suspected that he was not yet ready to accept it.

"String, you have to make room in your life, for new people to come into it. You have to make room in your heart, for new people to love you. You have to look to the future, not cling to the past," she told him sagely now.

Meg withdrew her hand from his gently now, and pushing back her chair, rose gracefully from her seat.

She looked down at Stringfellow Hawke, and felt a wave of regret wash over her that, whilst she did not think that they were done with each other, she knew that they would never truly be friends.

"All I'm asking is that you keep an open mind, String. If you can't trust me, at least promise me that you won't stop trusting in your intuition."

Hawke nodded mutely, wanting to say more, but unable to find the words, and uncertain as to whether he would believe what she had to say or not.

Megan stepped out and around the table, coming to stand beside Hawke, looking down at him with a gentle expression of understanding as she reached out and gently squeezed his shoulder.

"And, in the mean time, if I can help you with your quest to find Sinjin, you know where to find me."

Stringfellow Hawke made no answer, but for just in instant, Megan thought she saw something soften in his beautiful blue eyes.

"We're more alike than you imagine, String," and with that, she turned and walked away with dignity and grace, leaving Stringfellow Hawke alone with his thoughts.


	2. Chapter 2

**_Chapter One._**

_**June,**__** 1986.**_

_**Somewhere in California ….**_

"Thanks for this, Hawke. We really appreciate your, indulgence," Michael Coldsmith Briggs III, otherwise known as Archangel, Deputy Director of Special Projects with The Firm, regarded Stringfellow Hawke, critically, with his one good eye as he leaned against his silver handled, rosewood cane.

The younger man was wearing his perpetual scowl, but beneath the perfect California tan, Archangel could see that he was looking tired, eyes red rimmed and lacking their usual sparkle, and he wondered just how bad the cold Hawke had been nursing over the past week or so, had really been.

Knowing Hawke's penchant for understatement, he suspected that it had been something more akin to flu than just an ordinary head cold, which had laid the younger man low, and had meant that they had had to put off this test of Airwolf's systems for another week.

This was the first time that Hawke had agreed to any kind of testing of his and Airwolf's skills for quite some time, especially as he feared that The Firm might use any information they gleaned in creating another version of Red Wolf, their last attempt to recreate Charles Moffet's creation, with a few improvements of their own.

It had been four months since Hawke had dispatched the second attempt to perfect Charles Moffet's prototype, and he still harbored his suspicions that it would not be the last, despite Archangel's reassurances to the contrary.

The last time Hawke had indulged Archangel in this way had been a while back, when he had gone head to head with Dr Robert Winchester.

During Winchester's tests, a rare chance to judge the pilot and the machine, both in their prime and in perfect harmony, his assistant had somehow managed to get into Airwolf's computer systems and managed to take control of the sleek, shark like, unique Mach 1 capable helicopter and over ride her weapons systems during a test flight.

The scientists at The Firm had since made certain that nothing of that rogue programming remained, and that there could never be another attempt to over ride her controls from another external source, and so far, so good.

Those original tests, Archangel recalled, had irritated Stringfellow Hawke.

Actually, Archangel suspected that it was Robert Winchester himself, who had really been the irritant.

The scientist had once been a rival of Hawke's on the original Airwolf project, and although his path had taken him away from actually flying the helicopter and deeper into the computer programming that made the machine what it was, Winchester had harbored a belief that he, not Hawke should have been the one chosen as her primary test pilot, believing that he had more than enough skill as a pilot to handle her, and that his superior knowledge of her computer systems put him ahead of Hawke as the primary candidate.

Now Winchester was dead and the incident had highlighted a weakness that Charles Moffet had overlooked. That Airwolf's computer systems could, if only briefly, be compromised.

Hawke's and Archangel's priority since then had been to find a way to ensure that it didn't happen again.

The darned helicopter wasn't much use if every time she took to the air, there was a chance that at a critical moment, someone could over ride her systems and use her to their own ends.

It was a security breach that they just couldn't afford, not with so many lives at risk, two, in particular. The pilot and his engineer. However, it seemed in the months and years in between they had finally overcome the problem.

"Here," Archangel handed Hawke a small shot of whisky. "For medicinal purposes. You look like hell, by the way," he smirked and watched as the younger man downed half the amber liquid in one gulp and then pulled a sour face.

"I've been telling him that for a week now," Dominic Santini chimed in and this drew another scowl from Stringfellow Hawke.

Hawke knew that Santini had been genuinely worried about him, and, with good reason.

Only Dominic knew just how sick Hawke had been, suffering from the effects of a fever induced delirium, which had also caused him to experience several very lucid and realistic dreams about Vietnam, and St John.

The fever had left him feeling weak and miserable, and even now, almost a week after the fever had broken, he still felt as though his legs were made of rubber and his eyes had grit in them.

"I've also been telling him for a week, that he needs a vacation. _**I**_ need a vacation, so I _**know,**_ he does too. Not that I got anything against working two jobs," Santini threw Archangel a pointed look. "Hard work is good for the soul, but, been getting just too damned crazy lately," Santini's voice trailed away, as he noted the sour look on his young friend's face.

"I agree with you entirely," this from Archangel now, and both Santini and Hawke regarded him with suspicious, narrowed eyed expressions.

"You agree with me about what?" Santini fished, frowning.

"The vacation," Archangel sighed softly. He was used to the craziness associated with his job, and knew that Hawke and Santini were too.

"Uh oh," Santini sighed rolling his eyes heavenward. He wasn't used to the government man agreeing with him quite so readily about anything. The fact that he agreed with him now, about their need for a vacation caused alarm bells to go off in the back of Santini's head.

Hawke's too, Santini thought silently to himself, as he watched his young friend's chiseled features carefully.

"Now that this testing is over, things are pretty quiet right now, so I figure we could do without you for, oh, a couple of weeks," Archangel clarified now.

"Well, gee, Michael, that's very magnanimous of you," Santini sighed deeply.

"When you two have quite finished arranging my life for me," Stringfellow Hawke growled. "I am fine," he pinned them both with one of his no nonsense glares, and then raised his glass to his lips and drained the last of the whisky down in one gulp. "And, I _**don't need**_ a vacation," he added defiantly. "Now, if we're done?"

"We are," Archangel confirmed succinctly.

"Fine. Dominic," Hawke summoned the older man, as he turned on his heel and marched out into the sunlight once more, squinting as the sudden brightness hurt his eyes.

"Sure, sure. Right behind ya," Santini gulped down the last of his own drink and set the empty glass down on the table, before marching out into the sunlight after Hawke.

"I meant what I said, Hawke. Take a break, and, I mean from everything," Archangel called after the younger man's receding back. "If you don't …."

This immediately stopped Hawke dead in his tracks, and he span around to glare back at Archangel.

"If, I don't? _**What**_, Michael?"

"If, you don't, I won't have any other choice but to question your fitness and have you report to Knightsbridge for an intensive medical."

Archangel was not disappointed by the look on Stringfellow Hawke's face. He had known exactly how Hawke would react.

The younger man's lips were compressed, clamped together in a tight line, the muscles along his jaw line working furiously, both fists, hanging limply by his sides, were clenching and unclenching in rhythm with the muscles in his jaw as he ground his teeth in silent rage.

"And, you know what that means …."

"Yeah, Michael," Hawke hissed through his teeth. "I know what that means."

"Have fun."

"Youbetcha!" Hawke snarled, conjuring up in his mind's eye all the ways he would love to do physical damage to Michael Coldsmith Briggs III, and ignoring Dominic Santini's questioning look as he drew up along side him, he turned around and began to march out across the tarmac to where they had set down Airwolf, at the end of the tests.

"Does that mean what I think it means?" Santini quizzed once both men were installed inside Airwolf and had their helmets on.

"It means we're going to be having a break from the craziness, as you call it. That's vacation enough for me," Hawke grumbled, as he reached up to switch on the main rotor and watched the gauges before him pulse into life.

"No missions?"

"No missions. However, I am sure that you will be able to find something to occupy us, back at the hangar."

"Spoilsport," Dominic Santini sighed deeply. "Hey, wait a minute, who's the boss of Santini Air?"

"You are, Dominic," Hawke sighed deeply, knowing what was coming.

"Then, I say, we take a vacation."

"Dom …."

"No, kid. I don't wanna hear it. You're beat, and frankly, so am I. You must be for that cold to have had such an effect on you. I was worried it was going to do you in, for a while there, really String, you know I was," Santini sighed deeply over the mike in his helmet. "I say what we _**both **_need is a little R & R."

Stringfellow Hawke suspected that what his old friend really meant was that they needed a little time away from each other, to recharge their batteries.

Things had indeed been getting just a little too damned crazy, as Dominic had said, and they were both feeling the strain a little, and taking it out on each other in silly little ways.

Hawke knew that he had been sharp with Dominic for no particular reason, on several occasions, and his mother hen act over Hawke's recent malaise had been the last straw for Hawke.

Maybe Dom was right. Maybe they did need a vacation.

A little down time.

Away from each other.

"And Michael said to take a break, from everything. I guess he meant stunt work, maintenance, the whole shebang."

"Yeah Dom, that's what he meant, but, since when did Archangel tell _**you**_ how to run _**your**_ business?"

"Since _**his**_ business, became _**my**_ business too, and vice versa, I guess," Santini sighed softly. "You know he's right. If that's what he said, then that's what we do," Dominic Santini said with an edge of defiance in his voice now. "Now, are you gonna tell me what Archangel meant back there?"

"About what?"

"About questioning your fitness and scheduling a medical."

"Just routine."

"Didn't sound like routine to me."

"Dom …."

"String, you've had physicals before."

"Yeah. That's the point, Dom."

Although from his position behind Hawke's seat, Santini couldn't see it, there was a nasty twist to Hawke's top lip as he spoke.

"I've had _**The Firm's**_ physicals before." Hawke emitted another deep, expressive sigh, his shoulders coming up around his earlobes, and Santini found himself wrestling with a smile.

"Bad huh?" he tried to keep the hint of amusement out of his tone but failed miserably.

"Oh, no, just a lot of needle happy egg heads ready to use me as a pin cushion. When they weren't shoving other kinds of probes into just about every orifice."

A visible shudder ran down the young man's spine at the mere thought of the intrusion he had had to suffer at the hands of the medics at The Firm's headquarters, Knightsbridge, just so that he could keep flying missions for them, and Dominic Santini watched it travel all the way down, flinching himself as he recalled the somewhat invasive and embarrassing medical examination he had once had to endure before he passed A1 to join the Army Air Corp.

"Ouch."

"Yeah."

"I can see why you wouldn't want to go there," Santini lost his battle to contain his mirth and Stringfellow Hawke could hear the laughter in Santini's voice now, and he let out a deep sigh.

"So I guess we won't be getting any calls from Michael for at least a couple of weeks," Santini said, pulling himself together after a lengthy silence.

"That's what he said."

"So what are you gonna do?"

"Go home."

"The lake?"

"Where else?"

"Gee, why don't you really push the boat out for a change?"

"I like where I live, Dom. I don't want or need anything else. Tet, a bottle or two of fine wine, a good book, my cello and a fishing line, that's my idea of heaven."

"But you have those things all the time, String. You know what they say about a change being as good as a rest," Santini pointed out. "Why not try some place fun, like Las Vegas, or Hawaii?"

"Because my idea of a fun vacation is being at home with my dog and fishing in the lake, Dom, not getting rowdy in a bar in Honolulu."

"Gee kid, trouble is, you don't know how to have _**real **_fun. Kinda hard to get excited over spending the days sitting in a row boat with a fishing line, and long, cold, lonely nights with only that old tick hound and the trees for company. You know your trouble, no imagination, kid. You should get out more."

"Hey, I thought you were just complaining that there was a little _**too**_ much excitement in our lives right now, Dominic," Hawke reminded in exasperation now. "You take your vacation where you like, Dominic, and leave me to mine."

"Ok, ok, keep your shirt on!" Dominic Santini sighed in resignation now.

"You said it before, Dom. R & R. Rest and relaxation. That's what we both need. The only way I know how to do that is to get plenty of fresh air and sleep. Lots of sleep. Uninterrupted, blessed, dreamless sleep."

"Ok, String," Santini acquiesced gently, picking up something in the younger man's tone of voice now and recalling recent nights when Hawke's sleep had been disturbed by flashbacks of memory and vivid nightmares. "If that's what does it for you."

"It is."

"Then I guess you don't need me cluttering the place up."

"You know that you are always welcome, Dominic." Hawke interjected quickly, not wanting his old friend to think that he was not welcome to share the cabin with him.

"Yeah, kid, I know, but my idea of a little R & R is slightly different to yours and I wouldn't want to cramp your style."

"So, what are your plans?" Hawke asked now, allowing himself a small, half smile for he already suspected that he knew exactly what Dominic Santini would do with his vacation time.

"Me? I don't know yet, but I'm sure once I hit the telephone and start calling the guys, we can come up with something a little more interesting than looking at the inside of our eyelids!" Santini laughed raucously then, and Hawke knew that he was fighting a loosing battle.

The old guy was and always would be still just a kid at heart, and he admitted silently to himself, there was no way Hawke himself could ever be that carefree.

"Well, whatever you end up doing, Dominic, just have fun. Take care of yourself, but have fun."

"Sure thing, kid. Youbetchya. You too."

0-0-0-0

_**Santini Air Hangar.**_

_**Van Nuys Airport, California.**_

"What are you doin' here?" Dominic Santini regarded Stringfellow Hawke with a frown as the young man strode casually into the hangar.

"I could ask you the same question," Hawke regarded the older man with a quirked eyebrow and both men could not resist a smile.

"Just tidying up some loose ends. Can't stay away from the place, huh?"

"No, guess not. Not when I know there is something that I can be doing to make myself useful."

"Great minds think alike."

"And fools seldom differ," Hawke finished the quote for him.

" Go home kid, I'm going to. When I've finished up here."

"Then let me give you a hand and we'll both be out of here quicker," Hawke grinned.

"No, String. Go home. I only came by to collect a few bills that needed paying and to make sure that there was nothing on the books that couldn't be rescheduled."

"You're really going to close this place up for two whole weeks?" Stringfellow Hawke could not hide his surprise.

"Sure."

"Wow, Dom, I don't remember you _**ever**_ doing that, not in all these years."

"Well, there's a first time for everything, kid. I'm not getting any younger and I want to enjoy my vacations while I still can."

"What about Caitlin?" Hawke asked a little hesitantly, unable to stop himself from wondering how their fiery red headed colleague had taken the news.

"She's fine with it. Was trying to work up the nerve to ask me for some vacation time. I guess she's feeling a little homesick for Texas."

"God help Texas!"

"Amen!"

"You got something wild planned?" Hawke asked his old friend now with genuine interest.

"You bet!" Santini chuckled. "You?"

"Well, actually, I got a letter the other day from Charlie Roth, you remember him, don't you?"

"Charlie Roth? Oh yeah."

Indeed, Dominic Santini did remember the young man. He had served with Hawke in Vietnam and had come back from that hellhole with some pretty serious mental health issues.

He had withdrawn from the world, shutting himself away in the remote wilderness of Washington State, and only surfaced now and again when the memories and the nightmares drove him to seek out the company of someone else who had been there alongside him and could set him straight as to what had been real, and what was nightmare.

Hawke hadn't heard from the young man for at least three years, and Santini did not think that it boded well that he had suddenly decided to return to civilization, if only in the form of a letter to his old buddy in California.

"What did he have to say for himself?"

"An open invitation for me to go up to his place for a few days," Hawke informed, noting the expression on Santini's face.

"You going?"

"I'm thinking about it," Hawke hedged, the indecision obvious in his voice as he cast his eyes down briefly and shuffled his feet.

"Home from home for ya then," Santini regarded his young friend with curiosity, unsure why he seemed so hesitant and bashful.

"Yeah, in his letter, Charlie says that it's like a little piece of heaven up there, clean mountain air and crystal clear waters of the lakes. It sounds like the perfect spot to get that R & R we were talking about, and Charlie said to just show up, any time, he'd be glad to see me."

"Then you go and enjoy yourself, String, catch up with your old buddy, land a few fish, sink a few beers," Santini suspected that there would be more of that than actual fishing, but also knew that it wouldn't hurt his young friend to let his hair down for once, and tie one on with his old Army buddy.

"Maybe. Dom, if I do decide to go, can I borrow a chopper?"

_**Ah! There it is! I should have known!**_ Dominic Santini found himself grinning from ear to ear. That was the reason for the young man's reticence, although why he should grow so coy about asking to borrow a chopper when it was something that he did on a regular basis always amused Santini.

"Sure. Sure. You know you don't have to ask, String. Take the Hughes. Nice long trip will do it good," Santini chuckled softly now.

"Thanks."

"So, where exactly are you headed?"

"I'm not sure I'm headed anywhere just yet, Dom, but if I do decide to go, some where up in the Cascade Mountains. I'll fly to the local airfield and then hire a car. Charlie has a little place way out in the sticks close to a lake. Good hunting and fishing."

"Sounds like a plan to me," Santini tried to sound enthusiastic for his young friend, but in truth, what he really thought was, there was such a thing as having too much tranquility and natural beauty.

Still, it was Hawke's choice, and at least he would have some human company, instead of just that lazy old tick hound, Tet, up at the cabin on Eagle Lake.

"Nothing is definite yet, Dominic."

"Guess if the Hughes ain't here when I get back, I know you're off in the wilderness some place."

"How about you?"

"Me? Well I decided it was time I took a little trip down memory lane."

"Oh? Dom, you did remember that this enforced vacation will only be for a couple of weeks?"

"Sure I did," Santini scowled at his young friend, briefly, but nothing could dispel his excitement at the thought of his vacation plans.

"Me and some of the boys from the old regiment are getting together to liberate Europe. Of all the beer we can lay our hands on!" Santini threw back his head and roared with laughter now. "They've had more than forty years to stock up after the last time," he gurgled and Stringfellow Hawke could not suppress a smile now. It was good to see his old friend looking so relaxed and happy. "And it should just about last us a week."

"Just don't get arrested," Hawke warned sagely, knowing that once Dominic hooked up with his old Army buddies his estimate that the entire beer stocks of Europe would only last them a week was right on the money, and once they had soaked some of it up they were libel to get themselves into all kinds of mischief.

"Party pooper," Santini grumbled but he was finding it hard not grin, obviously excited about the prospect of spending some down time with his old war buddies.

"Ok, but if you do get arrested, don't expect me to come bail you and the guys out."

"I ain't afraid of a night or two in a cell, kid. One way to save on hotel bills!"

"Fine, then if the gendarmerie or whoever get a little bent out of shape at your shenanigans, give Cait a call, I'm sure she'd be delighted to come liberate you and the guys!"


	3. Chapter 3

**_Chapter Two_**

Stringfellow Hawke made his final approach into the small rural airstrip and followed instructions from the control tower as to where to set down his Hughes helicopter and whom to see about paying storage fees while he was visiting Charlie Roth.

After securing the Hughes and paying a somewhat stooped and elderly man with a crooked smile and rheumy brown eyes, called Fred Wyman, for storage and fuel fees and to ensure that the craft was gassed up and ready for him to fly straight away when he returned, Stringfellow Hawke retrieved his belongings from the back seat and asked Fred for directions to the nearest car rental shop.

In the shop he arranged with a pleasant, obliging young man with bushy sandy hair and wide, innocent blue eyes, to hire a sturdy open top jeep and then after slinging his small overnight bag and pre packed backpack into the back seat, took out the local area map from the glove box and began to plan his route to the edge of the Cascade Mountain Range.

His initial destination was little town called Weaver. The last place he could stock up on supplies and gas up the jeep before heading out into the remote mountain woodland and Charlie Roth's cabin.

Washington was a vast and beautiful state. Wilderness, Dominic Santini had called it, and he wasn't wrong. There was a lot to be said about the huge expanses of forest and mountains and lakes that made up the Evergreen state.

As soon as he had put the built up area of the township behind him, Stringfellow Hawke could smell the difference in the air immediately. It smelled green and fresh and alive as he drew in deep cleansing breaths and a contented smile settled on his lips.

It was already mid morning by the time Hawke hit the open road, and reminding himself that he was supposed to be on vacation, and was in no hurry to get to the place where he planned to buy supplies, he took his foot off the gas pedal and savored the sunshine on his back, the scented breeze and the beautiful, tranquil scenery all around him, a huge grin on his lips as he realized that he was humming that dumb old tune that Dominic had been whistling the last time he had seen him.

_"In a mountain greenery, where God paints the scenery …."_ Santini had sung out tunelessly when Hawke had asked him what the song was that he was whistling. _"Bless our mountain greenery home …."_ Santini had finished with a grin, and ever since, Stringfellow Hawke had not been able to get the tune, or the sentiment of the lyrics, out of his head.

It wasn't quite the same as home, but, it was close enough, and it was indeed, very green.

_**Very, very green.**_

When he arrived at Weaver, a small town just off the main highway, and the last remotely civilized settlement for almost a hundred miles, in any direction, Hawke had no trouble finding a mercantile store that catered to the weary traveler's every need.

It was the only store at the end of the one road through town, and looked like it had been built by the first pioneers through this wilderness; solid and sturdy dark timber logs seasoned by the years of exposure to Mother Nature, and standing like two sentries guarding the store front were the last two gas pumps for one hundred miles.

As he drew up before the store and peeled off his shades, Stringfellow Hawke found himself praying that the store had recently had a delivery of gas because the fuel gauge on the jeep was reading almost empty.

With relief, Hawke gassed up the jeep, cleaned the windshield, then checked the oil and water before heading into the store and had a good look around, trying to decide what he needed, and what Charlie Roth might already have up at the cabin.

There was a good selection of dried and canned goods neatly stacked in two aisles lined with shelves, as well as everything one might need to camp out in this wilderness.

Hawke silently went through an inventory of what he had brought with him and what he thought he might need, and then went ahead and bought his supplies, wanting to get them loaded into the jeep, so that he could begin the next leg of his journey.

Hawke knew that it made sense for him to buy only what he could carry as after only a cursory glance at the map, sitting at his dining table at the cabin on Eagle Lake a few days ago, it looked like he would have quite a hike from the place where he planned to leave the jeep, and so Hawke had brought along his backpack and bedroll and strong hiking boots and thick socks, warm clothing, and a waterproof jacket, just in case.

Now, he walked up and down each aisle dropping his purchases into a wire basket as he went.

A couple of extra boxes of matches, a carton of milk, a high energy snack made up of a mixture of dried fruit and nuts and seeds, known as trail mix, bottled water and several candy bars, not to sustain his sweet tooth, but for extra energy and to prevent the need to keep stopping to make a meal.

Hawke knew that Charlie would probably already have all the staples in his store cupboard, things that would keep like flour and sugar, and coffee, and knowing that he might be expecting a guest, Charlie would probably have stocked up on things like bread, milk, butter, eggs and cheese, but Hawke doubted that the other man would have much in the way of fresh fruit, so he added a bag of apples and four fat oranges and a hand of bananas to the basket and then went to the cash register to pay.

As he handed over a handful of bills for the gas, and watched as his purchases were neatly stowed in a brown paper bag, Hawke decided to ask the guy behind the counter if he knew Charlie Roth.

The man was tall, well over six feet and solidly built, maybe two hundred and fifty pounds, wearing a dark beard and his curly black hair long into his collar. He looked to be somewhere in his early forties. His eyes were a deep, warm brown and he had a healthy, ruddy complexion.

He looked like the kind of guy who could wrestle a grizzly bear and give as good as he got.

Hawke figured that as this was the closest place for miles, it made sense that Charlie Roth used it to buy his supplies, and that maybe the guy behind the counter knew him well.

"Pardon me, but do you know a guy called Charlie Roth?" Hawke inquired politely as he peeled off more bills to pay for his groceries and laid them down on the counter in front of the man.

"Who's askin'?" the man arched an eyebrow quizzically at Hawke as he continued to place the goods into the paper bag.

"Name's Stringfellow Hawke," Hawke introduced himself casually.

"**_You're _**Hawke?" there was a hint of surprise in the other man's voice.

"Yeah," Hawke sighed deeply, used to the reaction to his odd name and once again reminded of a conversation he had had with his father so many years ago, when as a child he had gotten into many a scrape over his weird name. His father had tried to make him understand that having such an unusual name had a big responsibility attached to it, making sure that that name stood for something good and decent in other people's minds. Dealing with the consequences of having such a powerful and unusual name was meant to build character, to make him stop and think about the way other people saw him and to help him to decide if he wanted to be considered as smart, or just a smart ass.

It had been a tough lesson to learn, but Hawke had never forgotten how sensitive and understanding his father had been, and he had never again made a big deal out of having an unusual name.

"Stringfellow Hawke?" Hawke nodded, a frown pulling at his brow now. "Well now, I guess I have a message for you."

The man grinned widely as he scooped up the pile of dollar bills and deposited them inside the drawer of the cash register, then turned around to a cork notice board behind him and unpinned a message.

"Thought Charlie was having a joke with me when he radioed in a while back and told me to look out for a guy called Stringfellow Hawke," he grinned warmly now.

"Guy has a crazy sense of humor. Never know when he's kidding or when he's serious. Anyway, gist of it is, Charlie said, if you showed up, to tell you he's real sorry, but something came up. One of his neighbors on the other side of the mountain got sick and needed looking after, so Charlie hiked on over there to help out. Said not to worry, but he might be gone for a while, and that if you showed up here, I should tell you to go right on up there and get settled in, and that I should give you directions, tell you where to park up your car and point you in the right direction for his cabin."

"Terrific."

"He said you should just go on ahead and make yourself at home and he'll join you if and when he can."

"Thanks."

"You're name _**really **_Stringfellow Hawke?"

"Yeah, my name _**really is **_Stringfellow Hawke," Hawke sighed impatiently now.

"Well pleased to meet you, I'm Zebedee McVey," the guy smirked then as in offering the younger man his hand in greeting, he noted the surprised expression on his customer's face. "But I don't advertise the fact around here. Folks in these parts call me Zee."

"Nice to meet you, Zee," Hawke pumped the other man's strong hand jovially. "Call me String," he invited.

"So, String, how come you know Charlie then?" Zee regarded Hawke with undisguised interest now.

"We were in Vietnam together."

"Then I guess you don't need me to tell you about Charlie," this comment was followed by a knowing look and a deep sigh.

"No," Hawke agreed. "How's he doing anyway?" he asked with genuine interest now.

"Ok. I guess. We don't get to see that much of him. He likes to keep himself pretty much to himself, and that suits most folks around these parts. They think he's kinda weird. Crazy. I keep in touch with him, via a short wave radio and he gets in here every couple of months or so to pick up his mail and stock up on supplies. He was real sick this last winter, pneumonia I think, and he lost a lot of weight, but he wouldn't go near a doctor, guess he doesn't trust 'em. I guess he's hanging in there."

"Aren't we all."

"Yeah. Tough guy. Real independent. Don't like anyone to make out like they're feeling sorry for him," Hawke nodded in understanding.

"Good neighbor though. The guy he's taking care of is a real old timer. Been up there in those woods since God himself was a boy. Nice old guy. Looked out for Charlie when he first got here, seems to understand Charlie better than a lot of folks, his silences and his moods, and I guess Charlie figures he owes it to him to look out for him now he's old and don't get out much," Zee explained.

"Charlie and me chew the fat sometimes," he confided now. "I was there too. Vietnam. When Saigon fell," Stringfellow Hawke nodded knowingly. "Hell on wheels man, hell on wheels!"

Stringfellow Hawke nodded again, in understanding now. Fortunately, his own time in the US Army had been over by the time Saigon had fallen, but he knew lots of guys at the VA Hospital in Los Angeles, who had been there, and he had listened to their tales knowing that he did not envy them their memories.

He had more than enough bad memories of his own as it was.

"Charlie has the radio with him, so I'll let him know you got here in one piece and that you might be at the cabin when he gets back."

"Thanks, Zee. Much obliged."

"You got a map?"

"In the glove box."

"Great. I'd be happy to show you how to get up to Charlie's place."

"I'll go get the map then."

Hawke strode casually out of the store with his bag of groceries and after depositing them in the foot well of the rear seat, he leaned into the passenger side and opened up the glove box, retrieving the map that had come with the rental jeep, then returned inside the store.

Zee McVey had already cleared a space on the counter before him and helped Hawke to spread out the map, then indicated to the younger man the route he should take.

"You follow the highway to here," he pointed to a spot on the map. "Roads are pretty good up to that point, mostly blacktop, but here is where it gets a little rough," he indicated with his index finger to where the highway branched off into a heavily wooded area.

"Old logging road and Fire road. Sometimes get washed away in the winter storms, but I know ol' Charlie does his best to try to keep it clear of debris after the winter storms, and this time of the year, you should be ok. Just keep on going till the trail ends, here," McVey indicated to a large splash of blue on the map, indicating a large body of water. The lake Charlie had mentioned in his letter.

"Charlie's cabin is on the other side of the lake, but there is a trail you can follow that goes right around the lake. Real pretty. Maybe take you half a day if you're fit," he eyed Hawke and nodded. "Which, I guess you are."

"I try to keep myself in shape," Hawke grinned then. "Thanks Zee. I appreciate your help."

"That's okay, Mr Hawke, err, String. Still a long way to go and it's pretty wild and remote out there," Zee advised in a serious tone of voice now. "Beautiful, but wild and remote. Isolated. Just miles and miles of empty road and forest. It's pretty awesome."

There was more than a hint of pride in the man's voice now and Hawke could understand the sentiment. He felt the same way about his remote lakeside home too.

"But it can also be pretty overwhelming if you've never been out there before. If you don't know what you're doing. If you get into trouble."

"I can handle myself. But, I'll bear that in mind," Hawke appreciated the advice, but he was confident in his own abilities to fend for himself and take care of himself in any kind of crisis.

"If you don't mind me saying, you probably won't get up there before nightfall. Sun sets kinda quick up there, so, you will probably have to find a place to pull over and camp for the night."

"Thanks for letting me know," Hawke smiled softly, glancing briefly at his watch and knowing that the other man was right.

It was well past noon now and he still had a long drive ahead of him.

He also knew that breaking his journey and camping over night would probably be the sensible thing to do, after all, he didn't want to have to go hiking through a strange forest in the dead of night, already weary from his long drive.

"Think I'll need anything else?"

"Maybe a torch, or a kerosene lamp. Blacker than pitch up there when the sun goes down. Quick too, like I said. Just like somebody turned out the lights," Zee suggested helpfully. "Maybe you should think about taking something to make a hot meal. Trail mix and fruit won't keep out the chill, and the temperature up there can drop way down the thermometer as soon as the sun goes down."

"Ok. Any regulations on building camp fires?"

"You camped out before?" Hawke nodded in confirmation. "Sure you have, you're Army right?

"Ex Army. Pilot."

"Ok, same difference. Then you probably know the drill. The usual kinda thing. Just common sense kinda stuff," McVey shrugged now. "Keep it small and keep it enclosed, and make sure you put it out properly. Make sure you take all your trash with you too. You'd be surprised the number of folks that leave their garbage behind and then wonder why the animals choke on candy wrappers and beer bottle caps," he sighed in exasperation then and Hawke nodded in understanding. He knew all about treating nature with a healthy dose of respect.

"In other words, String, just make sure you don't burn down the damned forest," McVey grinned boyishly then and Hawke gave him a half smile back. "And speaking of animals. Guess you know about the kinda wildlife we got up here too?"

"Bears?" Hawke nodded knowingly.

"Yeah, Black's and Grizzly's" Zee confirmed.

"Mountain lions, wolves?"

"You got it. They get a little hungry and a little curious, but a fire should keep them well enough out of harm's way. You packin'?"

McVey's question startled Stringfellow Hawke for a moment. He hadn't considered bringing a weapon with him. He hadn't been planning on doing any shooting of game, and he hadn't thought it necessary for protection.

Besides which, he had been hoping to get away from the kind of situation that would require him to shoot at anything. He'd had more than his fair share of shoot outs since Airwolf had come back into his life and the point of this trip was to put that kind of craziness out of his mind for a while.

"No."

"Good thing too. Too many damned outsiders come in here with rifles and shoot the Be Jesus out of anything and everything, including them selves. It ain't necessary, if you know what you're doing and you pay attention," Hawke nodded in agreement then.

"Ok Zee, I guess I'll take you up on that offer of a torch, and maybe a can of beans or soup."

"Gourmet cook, huh?"

Zee McVey grinned, stepping out from behind the counter to reach down a torch from a nearby shelf and laid it on the counter with a packet of fresh batteries, while Hawke returned to the food aisle and picked up a packet of dried vegetable soup, recalling that he hadn't thought to bring a can opener with him and deciding that he didn't need to be lugging around any unnecessary extra weight. He could mix the powdered soup with the bottled water and heat it in the Billy can he had in his pack over his camp fire.

Good enough.

Hawke knew full well that the smell of food cooking would attract the local wildlife quicker than he could say howdy and he had no intention of sharing his dinner with anything that had more than two legs and couldn't tell him his name.

"I got a couple of fresh baked bread rolls that would go down well with that," Zee offered as he rang up the cost of the torch and batteries and the packet of soup and Hawke nodded. "What about breakfast?"

"Coffee and fruit will be just fine, but thanks."

"Ok. Here you go."

Zee placed the remainder of his purchases into a fresh brown paper bag and handed it carefully across the counter to Hawke.

"Take it easy, String. Have a safe trip. Maybe see you on the way back?"

"Maybe. Will probably have to stop off for gas."

"How long you planning to stay?"

Hawke suspected that the man wasn't so much being nosy, as looking out for him.

He also knew that it was sensible to have at least one other person know where he was headed and how long he planned to be gone, just in case something unexpected should happen along the way, so he appreciated the gesture.

"Not sure. Maybe a week. Maybe longer, if the fish are biting."

"They are," Zee assured. "And believe me, Charlie will know where to get 'em," he grinned then. "Guy can tickle a trout right out of the water and into your open hands."

"I've tickled a few trout in my time too," Hawke grinned back modestly. "I think I can give ol' Charlie a run for his money. Maybe bring a few of those trout back for ya."

"Gee, now that would make for a nice change," Zee McVey rolled his eyes heavenward briefly then grinned at Hawke. "Give ole Charlie my regards now."

"I will."

"Safe journey, String."

"Thanks, Zee. For everything. "

0-0-0-0

Stringfellow Hawke waved jovially back at Zee McVey as he left the store and climbing into the jeep having slipped on his mirrored flying shades. He folded the map and slipped it back inside the glove box where it would be safe until he needed to consult it once more, and then he started the engine and carefully negotiated the road out of town, following the signs for the highway.

Pretty soon Stringfellow Hawke found him self alone on a wide, winding stretch of blacktop with nothing for company but the white line down the center and trees for as far as the eye could see on either side.

He realized that he was climbing, following a wide, winding route around the side of a gently rising mountain over which, he could see in the distance, hung a thin veil of mist, and Hawke knew that the higher the winding route took him, the cooler the air around him would become as the cloud cover began to descend around him.

A shiver ran down his spine, briefly, at the thought of spending the night on the mountain, out in the open, with the temperature falling rapidly and the threat of rain or a storm in the air, but for now the weather was warm and pleasant, the sun beating down on the back of his neck, beads of perspiration forming on his brow and dampening his short fringe of fine brown hair.

Hawke glanced down at his watch. It was getting on for three thirty and he was roughly half way to where the old logging road forked off from the highway.

He guessed that it would be getting too dark to drive safely on this unlit stretch of road in about another couple of hours, and so he pressed his foot down harder on the gas pedal, wanting to put a little more distance between himself and Weaver, and get closer to the logging road, before he lost the daylight altogether and was forced to stop for the night.

He wanted to get off the highway to make his camp.

If he parked the jeep on the side of the highway, even on this remote stretch, it was quite possible that something or somebody would run into it in the dark, and then he would be in serious trouble, without a ride, lost and alone in this beautiful, vast wilderness.

His aim was to find the logging road and go as far as he could before nightfall, and then make his camp. If he managed to get as far as the lake before dusk, he might even be able to land himself one of those famous trout and have that for his supper along with the packet of soup.

Suddenly, there was a loud bang which echoed and reverberated eerily off the mountainside and Stringfellow Hawke quickly found himself having to wrestle with the jeep's steering wheel.

_**Damn!**_

_**A blow out**__**! **_

_**Felt like the front off side tire.**_

All this flashed through Hawke's mind as he struggled to keep the jeep from veering off on to the other lane, but no matter how hard he fought with the wheel, the jeep swerved violently from one side of the carriageway to the other.

The muscles in his arms and shoulders and neck were screaming with the effort of trying to control the vehicle and negotiate the sharp bend that was coming up.

Hawke kept pumping the brake pedal, but nothing happened.

_**Blow out must have damaged the brake line too!**_

He kept fighting for control, pumping the brakes and wrestling with the steering wheel, but in his heart, Stringfellow Hawke knew that he was fighting a losing battle.

The wheel was sluggish and getting harder and harder to turn and he realized that that must mean that the blow out had also damaged the power assisted steering and he was losing hydraulic fluid.

Any minute now he would lose what little control he had and end up going over the edge of the mountain.

Even as he continued to fight with the steering wheel with one hand, Hawke reached out with the other and began to try to unclip his seatbelt.

The bend was coming up fast and he knew that he wasn't going to make it, as the wheel refused to turn.

The jeep went crashing through the safety barrier and tumbled wildly nose first down the side of the mountain, plowing into bushes and tree stumps and boulders on its way down the steep mountainside.

Stringfellow Hawke hung on for dear life, being tossed around like food in a blender, his lower body crashing against the steering wheel and dashboard and his upper body being whipped against the door, the roof strut and the drivers seat, until finally, the jeep sailed over the edge of a cliff and after a mighty effort, Stringfellow Hawke managed to swing his legs out from under the steering column and slide quickly sideways out of his seat, bailing out and rolling uncontrollably down the mountain, the breath knocked out of him the first time he hit the ground, cracking his head against a huge rock that jutted out, then again on the stony ground, an old dead branch.

Slipping.

Sliding uncontrollably.

Bouncing and banging, taking flight, airborne one minute, then hitting the ground, hard, the next, arms and legs flailing, scrambling to find something to grab hold of and finding nothing to assist him, as he flew, then rolled, until he finally came to rest in a narrow rock and branch strewn gully, battered and bruised and mercifully, unconscious, when his body finally came to a jarring halt, unaware of the jeep continuing its flight down the mountain, until it too finally came to a sudden stop, with a sickening crunching sound.

A head on collision with an ancient tree trunk, which crumpled the whole front of the jeep as though it were made merely of tissue paper, and shattered the windshield into a thousand tiny crystal shards.

For several long minutes, the only sounds that broke the eerie silence on the mountain were the slight hiss of steam escaping from the radiator of the jeep and the gentle tick of the engine cooling and the nearside rear wheel spinning in the air, propped up over the side of a huge boulder, until at last, that too finally came to a stop and the silence and stillness once again closed in around the mountain.


	4. Chapter 4

**_Chapter Three._**

_**Los Angeles, California.**_

_**Late afternoon**_.

"Ma'am? Are you ok?"

Megan Ravenson suddenly found herself back in the checkout line at the grocery store, aware of the anxious, insistent voice of the young woman sitting at the cash register.

She closed her eyes, briefly and reached out to the counter to steady her self as her knees threatened to give way, her mouth suddenly dry and a wave of nausea slamming through her.

"Are you ok. Ma'am?" the girl, an attractive, fresh faced teen with a shock of very frizzy deep red hair tied up in big bunches on top of her head and a smattering of freckles across her forehead, nose and cheeks asked again, fixing anxious hazel eyes on Megan's pale face, as she moved a large wad of chewing gum from one cheek to the other with her tongue.

"You kinda tuned out there for a minute. You gonna faint?" the girl asked with an audible gulp, her voice rising in pitch just a notch and her eyes growing wider at the prospect, obviously still alarmed at the way the pale, blonde woman had swayed when the glazed expression had suddenly come over her face.

"I was just a little dizzy," Meg responded absently, raising her hand and dragging shaking fingers through her already wind tousled hair as she realized that her sudden apparent lapse in concentration had indeed scared the girl at the cash register.

However she couldn't tell her the truth now, could she?

At least not without risking being dragged out of the grocery store in a straight jacket.

The psychic invasion of her senses had happened, as it invariably did, quite unexpectedly and at the most inconvenient time and in the most inconvenient of places.

This time there had been nothing specific. Nothing that Meg could pin down. No vivid images filling her mind in glorious Technicolor and Stereophonic sound, or raging emotions that she knew were not her own, overwhelming her, but it had left her with a terrible sense of foreboding, and physically shocked, a sensation not unlike a punch to the guts, like she had been mentally winded.

"Should I get you a glass of water?" the girl at the cash register offered, chewing vigorously on her gum once more, although now her eyes were being drawn to the ever growing and increasingly impatient line of people behind Megan Ravenson.

Feeling the heat of embarrassment rising in her cheeks, Meg shook her head quickly and opening up her purse, fished out a bill to pay for the bread, coffee, milk, eggs, cheese, sugar, salad vegetables and apples that she had loaded into her basket and which the girl had thankfully placed into a brown paper bag for her once she had rung up the amount on the register.

"No, err , I'm fine, thank you. It's passing now," Meg mumbled as the girl handed her some coins as change, and dropping them into her purse without even checking the amount, her hands still shaking, Meg reached out for the bag of groceries and offering the dour faced, elderly man standing right behind her clutching a solitary can of dog food in his gnarled hand an apologetic smile, hurried out of the store.

At her car, Meg fumbled with the key in the lock as she rushed to unlock the door and then, silently cursing her clumsiness, finally pulled open the rear passenger door and carefully placed the bag of groceries in the foot well behind her seat, then she closed the door, pulled open the driver's door and slipped inside, ramming the key into the ignition and giving it a quarter turn, grateful for the sudden blast of cold air rushing out of the air conditioning unit.

Closing her eyes, Meg pulled the door closed and allowed her head to fall back gently against the head rest of her seat, letting out a deep sigh.

This was what she found most frustrating about her so called gift.

The fact that she had absolutely no control over it.

That suddenly out of the blue, it could so forcefully and abruptly take over her body and her mind, her very life, and that more often than not she had no specific details, just a vague sense of unease, that something was wrong, or that something terrible was going to happen.

She had no idea if it was something personal to her self or someone close to her, something close to home, or just some vague allusion to some horrific tragedy or natural disaster on the other side of the world.

She hated the invasion of her senses, the intrusion into her life, so overwhelming and demanding of her complete attention, and the fact that because it was often so very vague, she could not completely put it out of her mind, distance herself from it, knowing that if it was really important she would once again be assaulted, for the gift was persistent and there were almost always more intrusions to come.

Of course there were other times, when the images that flashed through her mind and the sensations that flooded her body were vivid and sometimes quiet violent.

Yet, even then it was never just a simple case of describing what she saw and felt and heard during these episodes, or in her dreams, because frequently the images she saw were a confused jumble, nonsensical, or they were symbolic, and could be interpreted in several different ways.

It was rarely simple and straight forward and it was up to her to try to work out the meanings behind the symbols and translate them into something that meant something to the people involved.

She was so tired of having to explain that what she did wasn't an exact science, that there was nothing logical about the sequence of events, or the images that she was seeing or the impressions that she was feeling, at least not as most people understood logic.

She was merely the interpreter.

People were quick to forget that she was only human and that constantly working under a great deal of pressure, bombarded by people's overwhelming fear, anxiety and grief, often with limited time, put an even greater strain upon her, and that it was only to be expected that some times the things she saw upset and troubled her, or that she might get the translations and the interpretations of what she was seeing wrong, but often that was all that some cynical people needed to point the finger and accuse her of being a charlatan.

It made her so mad sometimes, because she hadn't asked for this so called gift and had no desire to get her self embroiled in other people's miseries and tragedies, for that was when they seemed to turn to her most, when they were fearful for the ones they loved, when they were looking for a lost child, or seeking vengeance against someone who had stolen their loved ones lives.

Megan understood their pain and their grief, their need to grab on to something, anything, that would bring them hope that their loved ones were safe and well, and she also understood their disappointment, their confusion and their distress when the things that she was saying to them seemed to make absolutely no sense at all.

She understood because those were all the things that she often felt herself, along with self doubt, frustration, anger and a sense of being ineffectual, but she had schooled herself to hide those things from the people that she was trying to help, to bury them deep down inside her so that she could get on with doing her work.

People didn't understand that she couldn't turn it on and off just to suit either, and it wasn't her fault if they didn't like the answers that she gave them.

Her gift required patience and tolerance. From herself and from those she was trying to help, and it did not react well to intolerance, anger, resentment and distrust, negative things that disturbed the vibrations or clouded the psychic energy around her.

_**She**_ did not react well, Megan conceded silently, taking their harsh words, their foul innuendos, and their dismissive attitude as a personal insult.

She should be used to it by now, but, she was only human after all, and she could not help over reacting to people constantly questioning her honesty and integrity.

It hurt her that people were quick to judge her, even before they had allowed her to try to prove herself, casting her in the guise of witch, or devil or worse, some heartless fake preying on human tragedy and loss.

However, there was one thing that Meg had long ago had to accept. Call it what you would, gift or curse, she could not ignore it, and it was by the very nature of the way that her gift worked, that when she got one of these strange feelings, or visions, it usually meant that the deed was already done, and that there was nothing that she could do to stop it.

Only rarely had she experienced true premonitions, fore sights of doom and disaster, but even then, she had found it hard to get anyone to believe her when she had tried to warn them, tried to fend off death and destruction,

Letting out another soft sigh, feeling her equilibrium beginning to return now, and with it her sense of perspective, Megan knew that all she could do was wait and see if she was to be granted a further insight, or if it had just been a blip, a slight fluctuation in the general levels of psychic energy that constantly surrounded her, that had simply affected her more because she was tired and hot and feeling generally frustrated with the world.

Only time would tell, and fretting over it and trying to force answers would, Meg knew from past experience, only make her feel worse and give her a headache.

So, for now, Meg decided to try to put it out of her mind and get on with her plans to make her self dinner.

There had been a small steak left in the freezer which she had taken out last night and left defrosting in the refrigerator, and which she planned to put together with a baked potato and the salad vegetables she had purchased especially, and then soak away the aches and cares of the day in a tub of hot soapy water.

Some soft music on the stereo, maybe a glass of sweet white wine, a chapter or two of the new novel she had picked up the previous weekend, a bit of light weight romantic nonsense by one of her favorite authors, and that should set her up nicely for a good night's sleep.

_**In your dreams Ravenson, in your dreams!**_

Meg let out a soft sigh, opening her eyes once more and dabbing gently at the perspiration beading on her brow under her fringe with the back of her hand, despite the frigid air blowing out of the air conditioning unit, knowing that the reality of the evening ahead of her was more likely to involve several loads of laundry and other household chores that she had been neglecting, and planning activities for her class at the Sunshine Day School, for the following week.

She loved her job as a teacher, adoring the little people who filled her day with the joys of watching them grow and absorb new things.

She didn't just teach them reading and writing, and how to add and subtract, and they didn't just learn by rote, sitting stiffly at their desks and reciting parrot fashion the lesson written up on the chalk board, but by playing and making things in art classes and sometimes just running around the school yard burning off all that excess energy and excitement.

They were learning all the time without even realizing it, learning about them selves, the others in their class, and the world in which they lived.

She loved each and every one of them, and she knew that they loved her.

More importantly, they did not judge her and she did not have to explain her self to them.

With her class of young children Meg could relax and truly be herself, something that she found hard to do when she was with adults.

It had always been difficult for her to be around a lot of people, bombarded by images and impressions associated with their lives.

In truth, Meg had few friends, a deliberate choice on her part, for she knew what their reactions were going to be when they found out about her gift, how the shutters would come down and the barriers would go up, how quickly people grew guarded and defensive, and it was easier than having to see the suspicion in their eyes whenever she spent any time with them, to see the speculation and the questions in their faces about what she might know of their deepest, darkest secrets, and if they could trust her to keep that knowledge to herself.

To also see in their eyes things that they would never say to her face, that they feared her, despised her, considered her to be unpredictable, a danger or a threat to their peaceful existence, something unnatural, unearthly, a freak.

Strangers were a little easier to deal with. They wanted or desperately needed something from her, but even then she could see them judging her, weighing up what to tell her, and trying to work out what she might know of them without having to be told.

It was a fact that whenever people found out about her special gift, they began to treat her differently.

They stopped seeing her as a woman, a warm, caring human being and saw only something to be wary of and suspicious about.

Even her own family.

Her mother had ignored her special gift, turning away from her whenever she had wanted to talk about the things she saw and heard, and her father had openly called her a witch and a demon, threatening her with actual physical harm, or with having her put away in some dreadful institution, if she dared to try to tell him about her visions, to warn him of impending disaster, claiming that it was her wicked mind that caused the terrible incidents she often described.

As a child, Megan had found it hard to understand that not everyone had her gift, that not everyone saw and heard the things that she did.

As she had gotten older she had learned to view her talent as anything other than a gift for it singled her out as weird and crazy.

_**Not so many years ago, kiddo, they would have burned you at the stake!**_ Meg thought to herself, humorlessly, knowing the truth of it.

Drawing in a deep, refreshing breath, Meg opened her eyes and ran her hand over her face, then reached out and turned the ignition on full, checked the mirrors, indicated to move out of the parking space at the curb outside the grocery store and then moved out into the steady flow of traffic, making for home.

Home at last, without further incident, Megan Ravenson made her self busy with chores, taking the steak out of the refrigerator to finish defrosting at room temperature and stowing away her fresh supplies, turning on the oven and allowing it heat up while she selected a medium sized potato from the vegetable rack, to accompany her steak and salad. She washed the potato, pricked it vigorously then placed it into the preheated oven, then turned her attention to the over flowing basket of dirty clothes and linens in the laundry room.

The washing machine loaded with the first lot of clothes, Meg allowed herself a much needed cup of strong black coffee and carried it through to the dinning room, setting the cup and saucer down on the chrome and smoke glass topped oblong table and pulling out one of the comfortable chrome and black leather chairs.

With a hearty sigh she sat down at the table to sort through the day's mail, scowling at the pile of junk mail as well as a couple of bills, as she sipped her coffee and then double checked her latest bank statement against her check book, pleased to find no nasty surprises waiting for her.

Coffee finished, Meg returned to the laundry room and found that the first load had completed its cycle so she emptied the machine and then reloaded it with bed sheets and various towels before carrying the basket of now sweet smelling, slightly damp clothes out to the back yard to be hung out to dry.

After half heartedly flicking around a duster and running the vacuum cleaner around, Meg returned to the kitchen to make a start on her dinner, checking on the potato baking in the oven, before opening up the refrigerator and pulling out the makings of her salad.

As she worked, chopping up plump, juicy tomatoes and washing crispy lettuce leaves, Meg suddenly became aware that she was humming the same tune over and over, although she had no idea what it was called, or where she might have heard it.

It was a pleasant, jaunty tune, a little old fashioned maybe, but it brought to mind vivid images of vast expanses of tree lined mountains and crystal clear blue skies, and as she worked, Meg realized that she had a big, cheesy grin on her face, and her heart felt lighter than it had in quite a while.

She was still humming the tune, even as tears rolled freely down her cheeks as she sliced onions to add to her salad.

When the vegetables were all chopped and the debris cleared away, Meg washed her hands and then checked the washing machine once more but it was still chugging away merrily, so she retired to her small study to go through lesson plans and her notes for classes for the following week, losing her self in trying to decide what projects were viable and which were still a little too ambitious for her class.

Hunger finally made her set aside her work, but deciding that it was now too late in the evening to hang out the second load of washing which had completed its cycle, Meg emptied the machine and folded the items neatly over a drying rack in the corner of the laundry room until they could be hung out to dry, then went out to the yard to check on the clothes on the line, folding the dry items neatly and setting them down in the basket at her feet, then leaving the basket in the laundry room returned to the kitchen, where the aroma of baked potato filling the room and made her feel even more hungry.

Soon the kitchen was also filled with the scent of gently broiling steak, and again Megan found herself humming that annoying little tune, wracking her brain to try to recall where she might have heard it, and if she could call to mind the words, until reaching into the refrigerator to retrieve the bowl of now chilled salad vegetables, she suddenly found herself putting words to the tune.

"_In our mountain greenery home …."_

_**Now where the devil did that come from?**_ Megan found herself thinking as she straightened up and carefully set the bowl of salad down on the kitchen counter, a strange half smile twitching at the corners of her lips, as suddenly her mind was filled with the image of a bird, a beautiful creature with a wickedly sharp looking beak, a huge wing span and an eerie, plaintive cry, soaring effortlessly across an expanse of water, skimming the surface as it reached down with sharp talons to pluck a writhing fish from beneath the choppy waves, then rose gracefully with only a couple of beats from it's huge wings, a triumphant cry ringing out over the surrounding mountainside.

An ominous shudder ran down Meg's spine as she reached out to lean heavily against the counter, suddenly breathless and dizzy, sharp pain shooting through her head and ribs and legs, that annoying little tune playing over and over in her head once more.

Megan felt tears spring in to her eyes and her stomach roll, and she wondered if she was actually going to faint, as suddenly now her mind's eye presented her with the strong, arrogant and familiar features of a young man she had met several months before.

Stringfellow Hawke.

However, the sensation soon passed, leaving her feeling drained and confused, her appetite suddenly gone, and so with a heavy sigh, and noticeably shaking fingers, Meg returned the salad bowl to the refrigerator, turned out the now perfectly cooked steak onto a plate and covered it with another and then made a dash for the bathroom where she spent several uncomfortable minutes dry heaving over the sink before pulling down the lid of the toilet seat and sitting on it while she ran hot water into the bath tub, and tried not to dwell too deeply on the visual associations of a bird of prey and a man bearing the name of such a bird.

She didn't even know if the bird she had seen in her vision was a kind of hawk. It could just as easily have been an eagle, and perhaps the two things were not even related, she told herself sternly, trying to convince herself that she was reading far too much into it, because deep down inside, Meg knew that she had no desire to become embroiled with that young man again and the covert work that he did for the government.

It wasn't that she disliked Hawke.

They had worked together only once, about eight months before, and she had found him over bearing and hard to tolerate, especially when he was scowling and snarling and challenging her every thought and deed. He possessed a dominant and forceful personality that had tended to overshadow her psychic powers and had undermined her self confidence, bringing out her defensive side and clouded her judgment and her ability to concentrate.

They had eventually reached a silent, tenuous understanding, he would back off and keep his scorn and his doubts to himself and allow her to do what she needed to do so that they could find his missing friend, and she would try not to let him get to her.

However, he hadn't made it easy for her.

He was a pleasant enough young man, but she really knew next to nothing about him, except what she had gleaned for watching him work and what she had sensed psychically about the losses he had suffered and the ghosts that surrounded him.

Stringfellow Hawke was a complicated young man, loyal and patriotic, yet sensitive and capable of great emotion, stoic, introspective, thoughtful and quiet most of the time, preferring to shut himself away from the rest of the world in his mountain lakeside retreat, until roused and then he was capable of great outrage and anger, especially if he thought there was some kind of injustice.

When mere words failed him, he was not averse to allowing his fists to do his talking for him.

He could be impatient and he did not suffer fools gladly. He could not stand idly by, he was a man of action and he needed to act, to do something, and he did not flinch from doing what needed to be done, no matter how unpleasant or distasteful.

However, most importantly of all, Meg had discovered that he was also capable of great love.

Although he would probably never admit it out loud, he loved his old friend and mentor, Dominic Santini as dearly as any son loved a father, and Meg knew that Dominic Santini felt the same way about the younger man. They had been through a lot together over the years, things that had bound the two men together more closely than any mere blood bond, and it was this one enduring relationship that sustained both men.

Stringfellow Hawke was also consumed with guilt over the loss of his family, especially his older brother, St John, or Sinjin as it was pronounced, who was still listed as missing in action after the war in Vietnam, and somehow Stringfellow felt responsible, that he was the one who should have been left behind not his brother.

He also blamed himself for the deaths of at least two women he had loved deeply and now believed himself to be some kind of jinx and that any woman who came to care for him, or whom he might come to care for, would also end up dying.

His extreme reaction to her psychic ability had puzzled and angered Megan at the time.

Of course, he had every right to doubt her skills, she had reasoned, but his reaction to her gift had been way over the top, even to the point of getting physically rough with her, and several times during their brief association, she had begun to wonder if in searching for some clue as to his brother's whereabouts, the desperate, grieving young man had encountered someone who had claimed to have the gift, only to be let down when later it was proved that they were a charlatan.

As she watched the tub filling, Megan recalled the last time she had seen Stringfellow Hawke.

A few days after their work had been completed and his friend found, she had invited him for a drink, not knowing why, except that she could not get him out of her mind. He had been cool, withdrawn and suspicious of her again, despite the fact that she had more than proved her authenticity to him in helping him find his friend, and then as they had tippy toed around each other's feelings, all had become clear to her as she had suddenly realized why he had reacted so negatively toward her.

He knew that she genuine, that she really was blessed with a precious gift, and he had feared that she would tell him that the one truth he had clung to all these years, his absolute certainty that his beloved older brother was still alive, was false, that she would rob him of hope and his very reason for living by telling him that St John was indeed dead.

It was then that Megan had understood his volatile reaction to her, and it was also then that she realized why she had had to see him again.

He too had a kind of psychic gift, an uncanny knack for knowing when something just wasn't quite right and the ability to hear things beyond the range of human hearing, and that gut feeling that warned him of imminent danger, that same gut feeling that fuelled his belief that his brother was alive and that one day he would find him and bring him home.

Megan had suddenly known that the reason why she felt so drawn to him was because she too had somehow sensed this gift in him, and needed to reach out to him and encourage him not to give up on his hopes for his brother, and not to deny his gift, but to keep trusting in that gut feeling, for it would continue to serve him well and keep him alive.

As she tipped bath salts into the gently steaming water, Megan caught her bottom lip between her teeth and chewed thoughtfully. Maybe just for once, her psychic insight might be just that straight forward after all. A vision of an eagle or a hawk, and then a vision of the man named Stringfellow Hawke might very well be linked, but it did not have to be about the man himself.

More likely it was about his lost brother.

Stripping off her clothes and slipping into the delightfully warm, frothy water in the tub at last, Megan closed her eyes as she allowed her head to fall back against the enameled tub and tried to conjure up the images of the eagle swooping down over the choppy waters and the backdrop of mountain scenery surrounding it, in her mind's eye once more, trying to focus on any small detail, something that would give her a clue, but even though she concentrated hard for more than five minutes, nothing happened and she let out a deep sigh of frustration and lowered her self until her whole body was submerged beneath the warm water, then rose swiftly blowing water and suds from her nose, pushing her wet hair out of her eyes and running her hand over her face, feeling the beginnings of a headache across her forehead as she drew in a long, calming breath.

There was no point forcing it. She would just have to wait and see what else might be revealed to her.

Either way, it seemed pretty obvious to Megan that she was going to have to tangle with the young man once again, and she better be sure of herself and be ready for anything that he might throw at her if she was going to come through it unscathed.

If there was one thing that Stringfellow Hawke was serious about, it was the welfare of is brother, St John, and if he thought for one minute that she was toying with his emotions, playing with him and stringing him along, he would make her pay for it, dearly.

A shiver that had nothing to do with the temperature of her bath water suddenly ran the whole length of Megan Ravenson's spine, as she recalled the harsh, angry look on Hawke's face when he had thought that she was giving them the runaround, and the way his fingers had bitten into the delicate flesh of her upper arms when he had shaken her to her senses, when she had been on the point of quitting because she had felt something that she would never have enough words to explain to someone who did not have her gift, death, and she knew that she would have to tread very carefully.

It would not take much to incur Hawke's wrath, and if this really was about locating his brother and possibly finding a way to bring St John home, the last thing she would need would be Stringfellow Hawke's scorn and his negative vibes drowning out the information she would need to help him.

_**Terrific, just what I need! As if there aren't enough challenges in my life!**_ Meg thought bitterly as she reached out for a bottle of shampoo and flipped the cap, pouring a liberal amount of the lemon scented contents into the palm of her wet hand and replacing the bottle on the ledge beside the bath, before applying it to her wet hair, another song suddenly running through her mind as firstly she scrubbed roughly at her scalp and then massaged the shampoo into her hair with her fingertips.

_**I'm gonna wash that man right out of my hair ….**_

_**As if! **_

_**That's right, honey, you hang on to your sense of humor. You're gonna need it!**_

0-0-0-0

_**Dominic Santini's residence.**_

_**Somewhere in Los Angeles, California.**_

_**Early evening.**_

"What'dya mean the trips off!" Dominic Santini snarled into the telephone receiver, still a little breathless after almost breaking his neck tripping over the front doorstep as he rushed to the back of the house and the kitchen to answer the instrument as it rang out shrill, just catching him as he had returned from the unexpected trip back to the Santini Air hangar at Van Nuys.

As he had finished packing the last of his belongings into his suitcase, all excited and filled with nervous energy in anticipation of his sojourn to Europe with his old Army buddies the following day, Dominic had suddenly had a horrible feeling, a cold, clammy hand of dread closing around his heart as he was suddenly unable to remember what he had done with his passport.

After several terrifying minutes of anguish and tossing the contents of several drawers onto the ground in his bedroom, he finally remembered that he kept his passport in the safe in the office back there at the hangar, just in case a charter flight or a freight run required him to fly out of the country, and cursing his stupidity and forgetfulness had had to make a dash back to the hangar to collect it.

While he had been there, Santini had noticed that there was a Hughes helicopter missing from the back of the hangar, and realized that his young friend Hawke must have taken it, and he had found himself wishing the young man joy of his vacation, and was suddenly even more determined to have a good time in Europe with his buddies, so he would have some new stories to tell Hawke when he got back.

Now some idiot was telling him that it was all for nothing because the trip was off.

"I'm sorry, Dom," the voice on the other end of the line intoned solemnly and Santini listened with a heavy heart, readying himself for what the man had to say.

"It's ok Mickey, just say what ya gotta say," Santini invited gruffly, breathing rapidly as he tried to get his breath back and still his racing heart.

"Must be Friday the damned 13th or something, because I no sooner put the phone down after talking to Morris and him telling me he did a fool thing and fell down the stairs and broke his damned ankle, than Harry calls to say that poor Muriel has had a stroke and he can't leave her."

"Hell, no, of course he can't!" Santini emitted a deep sigh and tossed his passport on to the kitchen table. "And how in the hell did Morris break his ankle?"

"He tripped over his shoe lace!"

"Ah man! Well thank God it happened before we arrived in France," Santini pointed out.

"Yeah," Mickey Ross agreed.

"And Muriel, is it bad?" Santini asked solemnly now, reaching out to draw one of the hard back kitchen chairs closer so he could sit and make himself comfortable.

"Harry didn't know for sure. He was waiting for the doctors to come back and tell him. He just said they think she had a stroke. He sounded kinda out of it too. Shock I guess." Ross sighed deeply on his end of the line now, and Dominic Santini's heart went out to his old friend Harry Manning, and the beautiful raven haired girl he had married the day after he had gotten out of the Army.

No matter how often he saw her, Dominic always thought of Muriel as that raven haired beauty who had captivated Harry Manning and kept him alive during the toughest missions of the war years, despite the fact that now she had greying hair and arthritic fingers and creaking hips and more than a wrinkle or two lining her still lovely face.

Poor Harry, he loved her so much, relied on her so much he would be lost without her at his side and Dominic Santini knew that he was going to need all the support he could get from his old buddies.

"Which hospital?" Santini demanded then reached out for the note pad he kept on the counter beside the telephone and wrote down the meager details Mickey passed on to him. "I'll see you there in about an hour?"

"Sure thing. You ok, Dom? You sounded a bit upset yourself buddy," Ross observed now.

"No, I'm good, Mickey, just angry with myself because I thought I lost my passport, and panicked, then remembered it was at the hangar all along, so had to make a mad dash back there and I was out of breath running to answer the phone, that's all."

"Ok, well I'll see you at the hospital later then maybe we could have dinner, in lieu of our vacation?" Mickey suggested hopefully.

"Yeah, why not."

As he set the telephone receiver back down in its cradle, Dominic Santini rolled his eyes heavenward and could not help wondering what else lay in store for him, for he was a firm believer in the old adage that everything happens in threes, and he found himself praying that whatever had put a jinx on his vacation would stop right there and not throw something else unpleasant at him.

It could have been worse, Santini supposed as he moved silently around the kitchen preparing a pot of fresh coffee, which he set to percolating so that it would be ready once he had showered and changed into fresh shirt and pants. Something awful could have happened on the flight to France, or once they were actually there, and he and his three buddies would have been out of their depth and over their heads in a foreign country.

They weren't young men any more, carefree and able to deal with anything that life threw at them, and, he told himself sternly, it was high time that he accepted that and just took each day as it came and extracted every drop of pleasure from it that he could, before his number came up and he shuffled off.

He could do that just as easily here as he could in Europe.

Dominic Santini was a firm believer that all things happened for a reason. Harry Manning would have been beside himself with worry if Muriel had been hit by the stroke while he had been off enjoying himself in Europe, even though he had her blessing to go off and kick up his heels for a couple of weeks, and he would have been inconsolable until they had finally got back to Los Angeles and he could be with her, making life miserable for all of them, no matter how worried they all were for her.

It was better, that if it had had to happen at all, it had done so before they had left the country and Harry had been able to stay close to his beloved wife.

Harry, Santini knew, would never have been able to forgive himself if the worst had happened and he had not been there with Muriel.

Naturally, now his thoughts turned to the good old days when he and Mickey Ross, Harry Manning, Morris Robertson and Steven Hawke had flown bombing missions over Europe before being sent to finish their contribution to the war in the Pacific theatre. They had been inseperable, especially Santini and Hawke, but now Steven was gone and the other guys were getting old and soft and past it, happy to rekindle their memories over a beer at their favourite bar and then go home to their wives and children and grandchildren.

But not him, Santini reminded himself swiftly. Not him.

He still had purpose in his life, and was still able to hold his head up high, because of the work that he did with String and that beautiful and deadly black and white machine they had hidden out there in the Nevada desert. He might be getting older and there were a few miles on the clock, but he could still feel proud of the way he handled himself in a crisis. He could still say that the work that he did with String mattered, that he was still helping his country.

He was the lucky one.

All the blessings in his life had come from knowing Steven Hawke, and now his son, Stringfellow, and thinking of that precious young man now, Santini found himself hoping that Hawke was having a good vacation, restful and rejuvenating, recharging his batteries and letting his hair down with his old buddy Charlie Roth, so that when he came back to Los Angeles he would be refreshed, and all fired up and ready to resume that wonderful craziness that made each day worth living for both of them.


	5. Chapter 5

**_Chapter Four._**

_**Somewhere in Washington State,**_

_**Sundown.**_

Awareness returned slowly.

The first thing that registered in his dull, sluggish brain, was pain, nothing specific at first, just a general discomfort that caused him to let out a low groan and stopped him from moving too quickly.

He opened his eyes, slowly, only to find the world swimming alarmingly above him and so he closed them again, and let out another groan.

He drew in a deep breath, wincing as the discomfort he had been experiencing up to that point became a more specific pain on the right side of his chest.

Ribs.

_**Terrific**__**!**_ _**That was all that he needed.**_

Cracked, or maybe even broken ribs.

That would slow him right down.

_**Slow him down?**_ _**Where was he planning to go?**_

_**More to the point ….**_

_**Where was he?**_

_**Good question.**_

_**Yeah.**_

_**Damned good question**__**!**_

He opened his eyes once more, very slowly, blinking away the hot tears that welled up in his eyes as the sudden brightness overwhelmed him just for a moment, and realized that he was lying on his back, looking up into a vast pastel blue sky and the weak rays of the slowly setting sun.

He raised his head to get a better look at his surroundings, only to feel a sharp, sickening pain flash through his head. He sank back down quickly and drew in shallow shaky, painful breaths as a wave of nausea rolled over him closing his throat and making him gag.

_**Ok.**_ _**Let's not try that again in a hurry!**_

He let out another deep groan.

_**This was not good.**_

He didn't know how he knew it, but he did.

Something was not right, some instinct as old as time was warning him, something about him self, his own body, and that realization sent a tingle of trepidation through him.

He was in trouble.

He couldn't stay here. He had to get help.

Somehow he had gotten hurt.

Yes, that was it.

He was hurt, damaged.

He didn't know how badly, yet, but he did know that he needed medical help for his head, ribs, and who knew what else, but he guessed that he would soon find out, when he tried to stand.

He opened his eyes once more and breathed in slowly as he waited for his vision to clear and the world around him to right its self.

Trees.

He was surrounded by trees, and now that he was starting to think a little more clearly, he was also beginning to realize that he could feel every little rock and pebble digging into his back, shoulders and buttocks.

He let out another deep sigh.

_**Where the hell was he?**_ _**And how the hell had he gotten there?**_

He suddenly realized that there was an even better question.

_**Who the hell was he?**_

As the thought registered in his still sluggish brain, his breath suddenly caught in the back of his throat and his heart slammed against his ribcage.

_**Who was he?**_

_**What was his name?**_ _**Another damned good question!**_

He closed is eyes once more and frantically searched his mind for some scrap of memory, but shockingly, there was nothing, nothing familiar, nothing at all.

He didn't have a clue who he was, where he was, or what the hell he was doing there!

_**Damn.**_

He really was in trouble, and deep.

Alone, hurt, out in the middle of God knows where, with no memory of who he was or where he was going.

_**Was there a reasonable chance that help might just happen along?**_

_**Was anyone expecting him? **_

_**Did anyone even know that he was gone? **_

_**Was there anyone in his life who would miss him, who might realize that something was wrong when he didn't show up where he was meant to be, and raise the alarm?**_

_**Did he have family? Friends? Someone who cared whether he lived or died?**_

_**How the hell should I know!**_

He drew in another ragged breath and told himself to calm down.

Obviously he could still function on some levels.

He could see, hear, smell, feel, and he knew that what he saw and heard and smelled and felt were familiar to him somehow. So, he hadn't completely lost his memory, for he knew the names of the things around him.

Trees.

Rocks.

He knew that that bright blue stuff over head was the sky, and the slowly sinking brilliant ball of golden light which made his eyes sting and tears run down his cheeks when he tried to look directly at it, was the sun.

He knew that the smells around him, fragrant and earthy and green, yes, very green, they were familiar and from nature.

Familiar? How?

_**Home.**_

"_In a mountain greenery, where God paints the scenery …._" he mumbled groggily, heartened by the thought of home and that perhaps the place he belonged was not too far away, then wondered why he had chosen to utter those words in particular.

_**Oh geez! Losing the plot here kid!**_

He smiled wistfully to himself at that thought but the smile soon changed to a wince when he tried to move once more, raising him self up onto one elbow to get a better look around him, only to be once again overwhelmed by a wave of pain and dizziness and nausea and he had to slowly lower himself so that he was lying flat and still once more until the sensation passed.

_**Easy fella!**_

_**Good advice.**_

_**Ok. Now try again. Nice and slow and easy.**_

Woodland.

Forest.

Trees and plants.

For as far as the eye could see.

_**Terrific.**_

_**Way out yonder!**_

_**Ouch!**_

He winced again as he tried to change his position, as he became aware that a particularly sharp rock was digging into his backside.

He also knew that what he was feeling was called pain.

He realized that although it wasn't pleasant, the level of pain he was experiencing was tolerable.

He didn't know how he knew it, but he did know that he had felt worse pain some time in the past.

_**How? Why? Where? When?**_

_**W**__**ho knows, buddy?**_ _**Just be grateful that you can bear it.**_

_**For now at least.**_

He was hurt, yes, but he didn't think that his injuries were life threatening.

The pain in his head was tolerable, and somehow he knew that the symptoms of nausea and dizziness also stemmed from the cause of that pain, probably a nasty bang on the head.

_**Concussion?**_

He didn't know how he knew that, but he did.

The pain in his ribs was worse when he moved, especially when he breathed in deeply.

_**Were they broken, cracked, or just bruised, or was it just a nasty muscle pull? **_

He couldn't know for sure, but found himself praying that it was the latter. Broken ribs would really slow him down and limit the choice he might have in which path to follow. He would have to be even more cautious about how he moved because of the real danger of a shard of broken bone piercing one of his lungs.

_**Now how the hell did you know that? Are you a doctor?**_

He had no answer for himself, but he knew instinctively that he was right about nursing his ribs.

Careful not to move too fast he ran firstly one hand, then the other up and down each of his arms, both legs, his shoulders, chest, neck and his face and was relieved to find no obvious signs of significant blood loss, just a smear on the tips of his fingers when he located the gash on the side of his head just behind his left ear, and on his knuckle when he ran his right hand carefully under his nose and across his top lip.

There was also a dull aching sensation emanating from his right ankle, which he decided was only sprained or had been twisted during his rapid and obviously uncontrolled decent down this steep and slippery slope.

He let out a gentle sigh of relief when he did not discover any further injuries and then carefully rested his head back against the ground and closed his eyes once more.

_**Could have been worse. You could have broken your damn neck!**_

Yes, he was damaged, but he wasn't in danger of bleeding to death and he didn't think he had any broken bones. He'd had a nasty fall and jarred every damned bone in his body, but he was alive and in one piece.

He found some small comfort in that thought.

_**So, maybe it wasn't so bad after all.**_

However, he knew that he would still need some kind of medical attention.

He also needed food and water and shelter, and soon.

Something deep down inside was telling him that he had been in worse situations before and survived.

_**You're a survivor kid.**_

The words echoed around inside his head, in a voice that felt so familiar and comforting, it sent a wave of warmth and calmness through him, stilling his shaking hands and allowing him to draw in a slow, steadying breath.

_**Yeah.**_ _**I'm a survivor.**_

For now, it was enough that he was alive.

He could move, no matter how sickly it made him feel, and he knew that he would have to move, sooner rather than later, for he needed to get to some place where there were other people, to get the help he needed.

_**Ok.**_ _**Time to try again.**_

He opened his eyes once more and slowly raised himself up until he was able to sit up, fighting against the pain and nausea every inch of the way, feeling the world rock and tip wildly around him and swim before his eyes, making him gag and heave dryly.

After several long seconds, and after gulping down several painful quick, shallow breaths, things began to settle, the world eventually stilled and his stomach finally stopped rolling over against his spine.

He sat still for a long time, breathing slowly and rhythmically to try to slow down his racing heart, in through his nose and out through his mouth, and re-evaluating his condition now that he was a little more upright, noting the numerous tiny scratches covering the backs of his hands and forearms and shins oozing tiny trickles of blood.

However he was pleased to discover no new pain making its self felt as he looked around him, blinking often to clear his still blurred vision, taking in more of his surroundings and discovering that he appeared to be in some kind of narrow rock strewn gully, or ditch, surrounded by sharp craggy rocks, boulders, trees and plant life.

He also quickly realized that already the light had dimmed slightly since he had first opened his eyes.

In front of him, the gully stretched for a few feet then simply dropped out of sight, to his left the ground around him was angled steeply, upward, and to his right it simply fell away at a neck breaking angle, which made him feel instantly dizzy and light headed as he carefully turned his upper body and peered over the edge.

He quickly realized that if he was going to go anywhere it was probably going to entail climbing.

Logic dictated that he had to go up. Going down just didn't feel right to him. Not to mention that it looked terrifyingly dangerous and treacherous.

He knew that he had to go by gut instinct.

_**Hadn't someone told him that not so long ago?**_ The thought and the image of a woman with short blonde hair and intense angry blue/gray eyes flashed through his mind too quickly and was gone before he had a chance to evaluate it.

Never mind. He decided that it was an omen of sorts, that he had the right idea.

_**Yeah. **__**Trust in your gut instinct.**_

It was all that he had right now, and his gut was telling him that help and civilization lay up there somewhere, not down the hill.

The air around him was still warm, the sun still penetrating through the branches of the trees, only lower in the sky now. The ground around him was still warm from the earlier heat of the day and he was slowly becoming aware of the sharp scent of drying perspiration which had soaked through his shirt and was dewing on his forehead.

He realized that the sun was quite low in the sky now and that he must have been laying there for some time, and although he did not understand how he knew it, he got the feeling that it was quite late in the day.

_**Another very good reason why he needed to move, and soon!**_

It would be getting dark at some point, and he would be terribly exposed, to the weather and to any other living thing that made its home out here in the forest.

He might be feeling reasonably comfortable at the moment, but that would change very quickly. Once the sun was gone, it would be pitch black and he would get very cold very quickly.

If he couldn't find help quickly, he would at least need to find shelter for the night.

His head felt like it was splitting in two and his chest hurt with every inhalation he took and a wave of weariness suddenly washed over him as he sat, trying to get his bearings and trying to summon up the strength to stand up.

_**C'mon buddy!**_ _**Put some effort into it.**_ _**You can't stay here.**_

_**Here, you're a dead man!**_

He didn't know exactly how he knew it, but he knew it to be a truth.

If he didn't get moving, he would die, from exposure to the cold, or to the curiosity of some hungry animal.

A shiver ran down his spine at the thought.

_**Bones picked clean by a mountain lion or his head caved in by an**__** angry bear. Take your pick fella!**_

No-one would ever know what had become of him.

_**So,**_ _**haul ass, buddy!**_ _**It's the only chance you have to get help and to stay alive.**_ _**So, move it!**_

It was all the motivation that he needed, as very slowly and carefully he forced himself to move, trying to get up on to his knees.

Almost immediately the world began to spin and tip and his head felt as though it was about to explode. His chest protested at the sudden exertion and his stomach flip flopped making him heave dryly and he sank back onto the hard ground and let out a deep groan.

_**Oh boy!**_

_**This wasn't going to be easy.**_

_**Ok, so give yourself a minute, and then try again.**_

_**Yeah.**_ _**Can't give up.**_

_**Mustn't give up.**_ _**Gotta keep fighting**_!

He waited for the world to still and his stomach to stop its protestations and then tried to get to his knees once more, with a similar outcome, but this time he pushed himself to make an even greater effort and found himself at last on his hands and knees, breathless, gagging dryly into the hard dry ground, gravel and stones digging into the delicate flesh of his palms and his knees as he panted heavily and felt the sting of salty perspiration drip into his eyes.

_**Oh man!**_ _**At this rate it was going to take him all night just to get upright and on his feet!**_

_**Move dammit, move!**_

Breathless, sickly and woozy, he forced himself to rise to his feet, staggering as his knees buckled, and he was forced to seek out a dry, brittle old tree stump to lean against, dragging in shallow, ragged breaths and fighting desperately not to pass out.

It seemed to take forever for the world to settle and his breathing to become more regular, but despite the disorientation and the fact that his legs felt as weak as water and the pain in his head and chest was almost more than he could bear, he forced himself to release his hold on the tree stump and take a tentative step upward.

The climb was the hardest physical endeavor he had ever undertaken, he was sure of it, and he thought that it was going on forever, as every step was excruciatingly painful and slow.

More than once he lost his footing or his hand cramped and he lost his grip and slid several feet back down the side of the mountain, landing on his already dented backside, winded and bruised and bleeding from numerous nicks and scratches obtained during the fall, but despite the worsening pain in his side and chest and the sickening sensation of what he imagined might be bone grating against bone, still he persevered.

Just when he thought that he could see the end in sight, a break in the tree line just a little way ahead, which could mean that he had finally come upon a road, or a trail, his sudden euphoria and relief that his first goal was in sight caused him to lose concentration, just for a split second, his foot slipping on a small patch of loose stones and suddenly, he found himself flying, backward, arms and legs akimbo, flailing, cart wheeling, desperately scrambling around to find something to grab on to, but it was hopeless, and in next to no time, he found himself right back where he had started, flat on his back in the dry stone riddled gully, looking up through blurred eyes at the same tangle of branches over head, winded and nauseous and nursing considerably more aches and pains than he had when he had first come too.

_**Idiot!**_ He chastised himself harshly. _**Should have been more careful!**_

Nothing else for it. He would have to try again.

_**Soon.**_

_**When he had gotten his breath back and rested for a minute or two.**_

A terrific pain shot through his head once more and such a weariness he was sure he had never known before began to settle over him.

_**Come on, man! Get up!**_ _**Get moving!**_

_**Do you really want to die here?**_

_**Do you?**_

_**Move!**_

But no matter how much he wanted to, he could not make his leaden limbs obey him, as a blanket of thick blackness was suddenly descending around him, enveloping him, as he sank wearily back against the hard, stone covered ground and closed his eyes, willingly succumbing to unconsciousness once more.


	6. Chapter 6

**_Chapter Five._**

_**The O'Shannessy Ranch.**_

_**Somewhere in West Texas.**_

_**Early evening.**_

"Caitlin O'Shannessy! Slow down girl! What do you mean you've _**got**_ to go? You only just got here, child!"

Maureen O'Shannessy exclaimed in incredulity as she watched the slender red headed beauty who was her daughter, pulling items of night attire and underwear out of the top drawer of the nightstand and jamming them into the open over night bag on the bed with a grimace.

"I don't know, Mom. I can't explain," Caitlin O'Shannessy stammered breathlessly as she continued to stuff her clothes back into the small overnight bag that she had only unpacked a few short hours before when she had arrived, full of excitement and pleasure at seeing her parents and her childhood home again after so long.

"Then you'd better start trying!" Maureen exclaimed indignantly, hands planted firmly on her ample hips, dish towel grasped firmly between still slightly damp fingers, her lips compressed together in a firm line, blue eyes dancing with irritation as her wayward daughter continued to pile sweaters on top of underwear and jeans without a thought as to the fact that she was crushing and creasing them.

"Caitlin!"

"Mom, I can't!" Caitlin paused in the act of roughly stuffing a very expensive pink silk bathrobe that she had saved for months to buy from a fancy store on Rodeo Drive, on top of a pair of faded denim jeans and regarded her mother with exasperation. "I just have to go, Mom. I'm sorry."

"You'd try the patience of the very devil himself!" Maureen growled darkly, but it was easy to see the conflict on her child's face. Regret at having to cut short her visit, mingled with genuine concern and fear.

Caitlin had always been impetuous, acting on impulse and rushing headlong into life without any thought to the consequences, but the look on her face now made Maureen O'Shannessy pause and hold back the rest of what she had intended to say.

The girl looked genuinely panic stricken, and despite her previous irritation, Maureen's heart went out to Caitlin.

Somehow she suspected that it had something to do with _**him**_.

That young fella Caitlin worked with back there in California, the one she tried so hard to hide her feelings for, but instinctively her mother just knew that her beautiful daughter felt more than just friendship for this man, Hawke.

Stringfellow Hawke.

Maureen O'Shannessy knew all about unrequited love for she had spent most of her teenage years trying to get the attention of Patrick 'Patch' O'Shannessy and lure him away from her bitter rival Pearl Monahan.

Maureen had lived in torment and agony, and wept many bitter tears of disappointment for almost five years until Patch had finally come to his senses and had seen what had been right there under his nose all along, but it had been worth it for they were still as much in love today as they had been on the day that they had wed, in spite of all the trials and tribulations that came with running a profitable ranch and raising four kids.

Maureen knew next to nothing about the fella, Hawke, but every time she heard his name if filled her with anxiety and dread.

Caitlin said very little about the man, which was more than enough indication to her mother that her child's feelings for him ran deep. Very deep.

Whenever she saw her, there was a haunted quality and a quietness and a reserve about Caitlin that had not been there before she had taken flight to Los Angeles, and it tore at Maureen's heart to think of her precious child, so far away, loving a man who did not seem to think of her as anything other than a work colleague and a friend.

Caitlin deserved more than that. She deserved to be with someone who saw all her wonderful qualities and her affectionate nature, and valued her wisdom and friendship.

She deserved someone who could really love her and cherish her for the rest of her life.

This Hawke fella sounded rather cold and selfish, Maureen could not help thinking, but from the little that Caitlin had imparted about him, Maureen had learned that there was some thing very painful in his past that he was still trying to come to terms with.

Under those circumstances, Maureen suspected that keeping Caitlin at arms length was exactly the right thing to do, to stop her from getting too badly hurt, and she had silently sent her thanks and gratitude to the stranger in California.

Still, she hated to think of this dear girl wasting her life waiting for a man who was probably not capable of loving her as she needed and deserved to be loved.

Maureen watched now as Caitlin returned her attention to the bag sitting on the bed, yanking at the zipper, trying to close it with half the clothes still sticking up out of the top, and knew that there was no arguing with her.

Once Caitlin made up her mind, the very devil himself would not be able to dissuade her. In that respect she was definitely Patch's daughter, Maureen found herself thinking in exasperation.

Proud and stubborn and determined.

Unshakeable.

Of all their brood, Caitlin was the one most like her irascible and headstrong husband.

_**All that beautiful red hair, I guess ….**_ Maureen mused silently to herself.

She had gotten that from her father too, although these days Caitlin was wearing her hair longer and the Californian sun had bleached it to a softer strawberry gold which suited her, and Patch's fiery locks had long since mellowed and turned to deep, iron grey.

Unfortunately the same could not be said for his temper and he was still as unpredictable and volatile as ever.

_**Which is why**__** you love him so much you silly old woman!**_

It was just another reason why she loved this child just a little more than the others, Maureen admitted to herself silently, although if pressed, she would hotly deny it of course, making it clear that she loved all of her children equally and had no particular favorite.

"Look child, if this is about before," Maureen's voice trailed away as Caitlin raised blue/gray eyes from the zipper and trying to tame the clothes so that she could get the bag closed, and glowered at her mother.

"About me ending up on my tush in the dust, you mean?" Caitlin challenged, a flush creeping into her cheeks, her hand automatically moving to her rear end to swat at the dust still clinging to the denim of her jeans, as she recalled the very undignified way she had ended up in a heap on the ground after falling from her favorite horse a little while ago.

Her hand then drifted to the sore spot at the base of her spine, her pride and dignity not the only things to have suffered a dent after the momentary lapse in concentration.

"It's not," she added for good measure. "Something is wrong."

"I'll say! You're even more scatter brained and vague since you moved to that infernal place in California than you were before!" Maureen could have bitten her tongue at the harshness of her tone, but it was too late.

"Mom," Caitlin's tone held a warning now, wanting to remind her mother that she was a grown woman, not a child any longer, and that she had every right to make her own choices and a life for herself.

She stopped herself just in time, reigning in her temper and her exasperation, anxious and irritated with herself because she had absolutely no idea why she suddenly had this terrible feeling of dread gnawing away at the pit of her stomach and a sure fire certainty in her heart that something was terribly wrong. That something had happened to one or perhaps both of her friends from Santini Air.

Her mother ought to know that no matter how long she had been away, she wouldn't have just fallen off the horse like that. She was too good a rider for that.

_**Honestly! She had practically been born in the saddle for heavens sake!**_

Something had disturbed her concentration, some powerful and overwhelming sense of doom that had knocked the wind out of her and made her feel violently sick.

When she had begun to recover, coughing the dust from the back of her throat as she fended off her father's efforts to help her to her feet, ignoring the teasing light dancing in his grey eyes and the amused expression on his face, the first thing that had popped into her mind was an image of Stringfellow Hawke's arrogant, handsome features.

Even now her heart was still beating a wild and erratic tattoo in her chest, nothing to do with the speed with which she had raced up the stairs to her room, and there was an uncomfortable cold sweat breaking out all over her back, trickling down her spine.

Her head was spinning and she couldn't stop thinking that perhaps Hawke and Santini's vacation plans had been forced to be postponed by some unexpected mission for The Firm, and that maybe something had happened to them while they were flying Airwolf.

She was being driven by an instinct as old as time, telling her that her friend's needed her, but Caitlin O'Shannessy knew that no matter how tactful she was, there were no way to explain to her mother why she was in such a hurry to take flight, and that there was also no way to avoid hurting her feelings.

This visit hadn't been planned, just something that Caitlin had arranged on the spur of the moment after Dominic Santini had told her that he was thinking of taking a couple of weeks vacation, but that didn't mean that her parents had not been looking forward to seeing her, that they hadn't made plans to spend special time with her while she was here.

The dust had barely settled after her arrival, and now here she was ready to bolt.

_**What must her mother be thinking?**_

Caitlin had an idea, but she knew that there were no words that would ever convince either of her parents that it wasn't because she no-longer felt comfortable being around them and much preferred the bright lights and excitement of her new life in Los Angeles, California.

_**What were they supposed to think?**_ Cait asked herself silently as she tugged at the zipper on her bag one last time, feeling bad as she picked the bag up off the bed and crossed the room on long, swift strides, pausing long enough to throw one arm around her mother's waist and plant a quick kiss to her plump cheek.

"I love you, Mom. I'll call you."

"You stay right where you are young lady!" Maureen O'Shannessy hissed, stopping Caitlin in mid turn by reaching out to take her free hand as the girl moved away from her.

"Have you completely taken leave of your sense girl? It's already getting dark out there and I have dinner almost ready to set out on the table. Have you forgotten that your sister and her new husband are driving over to have dinner with us, especially to see you? You are going nowhere, do you here me!"

"Mom!" Caitlin protested, feeling a childish impulse to yank her hand out of her mother's grasp and stamp her foot.

"Child, you can't just go tearing off into the darkness. At least wait until morning and then your father can drive you wherever you want to go," Maureen reasoned gently now, aware of the anger and indignation glittering in her daughter's eyes.

"I'm not a child! I used to be a police officer! A damned good one too," Caitlin felt compelled to remind her parent. "And I can damn well drive myself Mom!"

"Is that what you learned out there in California? To disrespect and smart mouth your mother?" There was more than a hint of anger and disappointment in Maureen's tone and now Caitlin had the good grace to look a little ashamed of herself and her irrational behavior.

"Are these people you work with out there in Los Angeles more important to you than your family? Do you care more for them than you do us?" Maureen asked in a sad little voice that hurt her daughter far more than any loud, angry words.

"No Mom," Caitlin let out a deep sigh and regarded her mother with a steady gaze. "It's just that I know something is very wrong," she added in a tight voice, hurt by her mother's sharp words and feeling more than a little guilty as she realized that she was indeed giving her mother that impression by the way that she was acting.

"What do you mean, something is wrong?" Maureen challenged her daughter now, wanting to try to understand that desperate need that she could see in her beautiful blue/gray eyes.

"I don't know exactly!" Cait exclaimed in frustration. "I don't understand it either, but I just have this horrible feeling that something bad happened to them. I know it sounds crazy Mom," her voice trailed away and she hung her head, briefly.

There were tears glistening in her eyes when she again raised her eyes and regarded her mother.

"I'm scared for them."

"I can see that, honey," Maureen pulled Caitlin to her and gave her a quick, fierce hug, raising one hand to push a tuft of fluffy red gold hair from the girl's cheek. "You love them, don't you."

It wasn't a question but a statement of fact and there was no note of recrimination or judgment in her mother's voice now, Caitlin realized, as drawing away from her comforting embrace she took in her mother's open expression.

Maureen O'Shannessy understood that her daughter had a big warm heart and a great capacity to love, and she wanted Caitlin to know that she understood why she felt this way.

In a way Maureen was glad that her daughter had found good people to work with and who seemed to care for her and watch out for her.

Caitlin was a smart, levelheaded girl who could cope with most things. She could take care of herself, Maureen knew, but her mother was still relieved that she had people steering her away from trouble and the wickedness and the temptations that were to be found so easily in the big city.

"Yeah, Mom, I love them, but that doesn't mean that I love you and Dad any less. They're good people. You'd like them, Mom, really you would, especially Mr Santini, he's so funny and so generous and so full of life."

Caitlin's lips turned upward in a pretty smile at the very thought of the older man who was her boss back there in California, although her mother could not help thinking that it was what she wasn't saying about the younger fella that was far more reveling, but she wisely kept those thoughts to herself.

"Yes, they've become like my family away from home, but they'll never replace my real family," Caitlin paused to draw in a shaky breath and pinned her mother with steady, sincere blue/gray eyes.

"I'm lucky Mom. I've got two families, but more importantly, I know I'll never have friends quite like Stringfellow Hawke and Dominic Santini. I trust them with my life, and I know they would do anything for me."

There was such honesty in Caitlin's eyes and such conviction in her voice when she spoke now that while she hoped that she would never have to put to the test the part about trusting her life to these two unknown men, Maureen O'Shannessy had no trouble believing her daughter's sincerity.

Like it or not, these two men, Hawke and Santini, were important to Caitlin, and while she had never been totally convinced about the so called sixth sense, Maureen also knew that when people worked that closely with each other and cared that deeply about each other, some times, some how they just instinctively knew when something was not right.

She had experienced that feeling a time or two her self over the years, when her husband, or one or the other of her growing brood of youngsters faced some peril, or when she sensed a change coming on the wind.

_**Women's intuition.**_

Obviously that was how Caitlin was feeling right now.

It was clear to see that something was troubling her deeply, and Maureen knew it would only make matters worse if she tried to make light of it.

"I thought you said they were going away on vacation?" Maureen reminded in a gentle voice.

"They were. Mr Santini was going to Europe. I don't know about Hawke, I think maybe he was just going up to his cabin on Eagle Lake," Cait drew in a long, slow breath, trying to organize her thoughts. "But something could have happened after I left. Maybe they were offered a stunt job at the last minute," again her voice trailed away unable to say out loud the rest of what she was thinking.

_**Or maybe Archangel called with a**__**n Airwolf mission.**_

"What do you think you can do tonight, Caitlin? Maureen reasoned now, slipping her arm gently around her daughter's waist and drawing her back to the bed, moving the overnight back out of her way and encouraging her daughter to sit down on the pretty home made patchwork quilt beside her.

"I don't know," Caitlin responded in a deflated tone now as she realized that her mother was right. She wouldn't be able to get a flight back to Los Angeles tonight, and even if she started driving right now, she still wouldn't get there any quicker than if she waited for morning and got the first flight out of San Antonio.

The last thing that she wanted to do was storm out, leaving bad feelings and an atmosphere in her wake, only to spend a long and uncomfortable night waiting around the airport lounge or in some seedy motel.

_**Would it really make that much difference if she stayed to have dinner with her family and then set out for LA in the morning?**_ She asked herself calmly now. After all, she had missed her sister's wedding, although through no fault of her own, and this was the first chance she had had to see Geraldine since her big day almost eighteen months ago.

She had so been looking forward to seeing her older sister, because Gerry was almost seven months pregnant with her first baby, and Cait had wanted to sit with her and talk baby talk until they had exhausted the subject.

Caitlin knew that Gerry was looking forward to it too, and she could only imagine how disappointed her sister would be if she charged off into the night on a whim.

"Nothing, I guess," Caitlin finally conceded, no less worried about the fate of her friends but also realizing that her mother was making sense.

"Is there someone you could call?"

_**Of course there was! **_

_**Archangel!**_

Caitlin was suddenly elated with the thought of picking up the telephone and calling Archangel to see if he had sent Airwolf out on a mission, then realized that she couldn't just ask him out right.

Anything to do with Airwolf was classified so even if he was predisposed to tell her anything, all he would be able to do was to confirm if he had given Hawke a job or not.

"No, Mom. They're both alone. Hawke has no family and Dominic's kin don't live in Los Angeles. I'm all they've got."

"And lucky to have you they are too," Maureen smiled benignly and patted her daughter's hand gently. "And if that is the case, don't you think that if something was wrong, someone would have called you?" she reasoned softly now.

"Maybe," Caitlin sighed deeply, turning her head to look at her mother now, offering her a weak smile of gratitude for her tolerance and understanding.

"But you're still going back, aren't you."

"Yeah, Mom. I have to. I can't just let it go."

"Of course you can't. You're Caitlin O'Shannessy," Maureen chuckled at the look that settled on her daughter's face now. "And we love you very much, honey," Maureen slipped her arm around Caitlin's narrow shoulders and drew her close.

"I understand, love, really I do. All I'm saying is wait until morning. You go tearing off now, worried and scared for your friends, distracted, you'll have me and your father fretting all night long that something awful might happen to you," she pointed out calmly, giving Caitlin's shoulders a gentle squeeze.

"It's not that I'm angry and think you're running out on us and it's not about disappointing us because we have been so excited about seeing you and hearing all about what you do back there in California," Maureen explained. "I just want to make sure you don't put yourself in danger. In the morning you will be calmer, things might look and feel different, but if they don't, then you will go with our blessing and our love. Ok?"

"Ok," Caitlin conceded, knowing that her mother was right.

"You do know that we love you, don't you, honey? No matter how long you stay away, you will always have a home here, and we are so very proud of you too, whatever you chose to do with your life."

"I know that Mom, and I love you too, all of you," Caitlin snuggled up closer to her mother, feeling tears stinging in her eyes now and again felt the comforting squeeze of her mother's arm around her shoulders.

She knew that she was probably being irrational, but she couldn't shake the feeling of doom that had settled over her heart. However she also knew that her mother was right, she wouldn't be much help to anyone if she ended up running her car off the road or rolling it into some drainage ditch.

"Good, now we've got that straightened out, why don't you go and wash up ready for dinner and I'll unpack your bag," Maureen raised her hand from her daughter's shoulder to ruffle her hair affectionately now. "And then I could use some help setting the table, Geraldine and Garret will be here any minute."


	7. Chapter 7

**_Chapter Six._**

_**Meg Ravenson's Residence,**_

_**Los Angeles,**_

_**California**_

_**3am.**_

Megan Ravenson jerked awake, a muffled, startled exclamation on her lips, breathing quickly and raggedly as her eyes flew wide open and she found herself looking up at the ceiling in her darkened bedroom, heart racing erratically in her chest, legs tangled up in the knotted bed sheets and clutching her scrunched up pillow to her chest, the lower part of her face covered and her mouth buried in it to smother her anxious cries.

She let out a soft moan as she realized what had happened, and then reached out to turn on the bedside lamp, knocking her alarm clock to the ground and spilling a glass of water in the process.

"Damn," she grumbled as she flung the pillow across the room and fought off the bed sheets, kicking out at them in frustration and irritation as she sat up in the middle of the bed and hugged her knees into her chest.

"Damn, damn, damn," she cursed swinging her feet over the edge of the mattress and sat then for a moment, pushing her hair back off her face and trying to avoid putting her toes the puddle on the bedroom carpet.

The alarm clock had landed face up, and she could clearly see the time on the luminous dial.

Three am.

"Oh hell!"

Careful not to tread in the damp patch on the carpet, Meg slipped off the bed and quickly made her way to the adjoining bathroom where she picked up a towel and then went back to the bedroom to clean up the spill, her mind still preoccupied with the dream from which she had just rudely awoken, and even as she cleaned up the mess and restored order to the nightstand, Megan could not get the vivid images out of her head.

Pulling on a bathrobe, Megan did not bother to put on any lights as she returned the towel to the bathroom, tossing it carelessly into the dirty laundry basket, and then made her way down stairs and along the hallway to the kitchen, where she poured milk into a saucepan and set it to warming on the stove while she pulled a notepad and pen out of one of the kitchen drawers and began to make notes on her recollection of the dream.

It was a habit she had gotten into lately, writing down all the things she remembered of her dreams, impressions, imagery, the smallest detail, chasing down the elusive threads before they fled from her memory completely, before going back to sleep, although tonight she suspected that there was little prospect of her returning to the land of nod.

Her hands were trembling and her knees were actually shaking as she leaned against the kitchen counter and tried to gather her wits.

She was far too shaken.

So much so she was going to add just a splash of scotch to the milk when it had finished warming, as well as her usual two spoons of sugar, in the hope that the milk would settle her churning stomach and the alcohol would still her trembling hands.

Like most people, Meg often had difficulty remembering the fine details of her dreams, even the psychic ones, and quite often all she was left with was a general sense of setting, and the important information that she was meant to make sense of. Writing down everything that she remembered as soon as she could after waking, she had found, made it a little easier to focus and to try to recall more detail later.

She tipped a dash of scotch into her mug then added the sugar and the now warm milk, stirring it all together as she turned off the electric ring and then deposited the dirty pan in the sink. However as she carefully carried the mug and the notepad and pen through to the dining room, where she switched on a small table lamp, Meg had more trouble trying not to remember the incredible detail of the dream which had so unsettled her.

She sat down at the table and taking a gulp of the milk told her self to calm down and try to start at the beginning. Everything was so muddled and jumbled if she just wrote down what came into her head as she remembered it, it would just be a confusion of words.

Drawing in a long, calming breath she closed her eyes and tried to picture what she had seen in her dream, casting her mind back and trying to rewind her thoughts until she could focus on the point where the dream had begun.

Noise.

So much noise, she had actually jumped, her heart racing, as she became aware that she was surrounded by dense vegetation, the air humid and very damp, fronded plants and thick prickly shrubs, clumps of tropical trees dripping water over her face and into her eyes, as she sat crouched behind a bush and watched as men in camouflage battledress fatigues exchanged gunfire with an unseen enemy, deep in the shadows of the steaming jungle on the other side of the clearing.

The sound of gunfire and explosions all around was deafening, drowning out the anxious shouts of men giving orders, screaming in agony or calling out for medical attention and then she became aware of an even louder and familiar noise. The steady thwack thwack of helicopter rotors beating the air, as a chopper skimmed over the treetops and descended into the LZ or landing zone.

To one side of her an excited young man was screaming into a radio that he had sick and injured men and to get that damned Huey down on the ground. Yet even as he barked out orders, the jungle around him suddenly erupted in flame and Megan actually felt the heat and the shock wave of the grenade or mortar round or missile or whatever the hell it was that had just exploded, wash over her as she cowered behind her bush and when the smoke cleared and she was finally able to look back, the acrid smell of burning flesh assaulting her nostrils, the young man with the radio was gone.

However she did not have long to think about the man's fate for now another slightly older man was taking charge and shepherding his men toward the landing zone. He was of medium height with unkempt sandy colored hair and piercing blue eyes in the middle of a grubby face, directing his men, sometimes actually physically pushing them out to the edge of the clearing, where Megan could now see the landing skids of the Huey making contact with the muddy ground that ran along side the shallow stream which ran through the middle of the clearing.

The rotors were whipping up dust and bits of vegetation, and when she tried to get a closer look into the cockpit Meg could actually see the face of the young pilot at the controls, gazing anxiously out of his window and beckoning to the men to hurry up and get on board.

Meg watched in horror as men streamed out of the trees and into the clearing, their already weak legs buckling beneath them, their feet skidding in the slick mud, only to be picked off one by one by sniper fire from the shadows on the other side of the clearing, and the pilot was no anxiously turning around to issue orders to the remainder of his crew, barking out a demand that someone get onto their machine gun, draw fire and take out the enemy position.

Although he was very young, so fresh faced and innocent looking, Megan Ravenson immediately recognized the young pilot, and felt her heart lurch violently in her chest.

In the next instant she somehow found herself seated beside Stringfellow Hawke in the cockpit of the Huey as his hands gripped the flight controls and he screamed encouragement to his older brother, Sinjin, to get the hell out of there and to make for the chopper, desperate to make the older man aware that he couldn't wait much longer, that the rear of the chopper and the rescue lines hanging from the skids beneath were already filling up with men who were relying on him to get them out of there and back to safety.

Someone in back was yelling that they were full and that if he didn't go now, they would be too heavy to take off, but still the young Stringfellow Hawke waited, terror written all over his face as he watched his brother and another man make a tentative move out of the clearing, only to have gunfire explode at their feet kicking up dirt and grass and stones, forcing them back into the tree line.

Now the young man in the back of the Huey was demanding that Stringfellow Hawke take off, and Meg could see the indecision in his eyes, the weight of the decision that he had to make. Torn between whether to stay and risk all their lives, or to do what he had been sent here for, to rescue these men and get them back to base in one piece, leaving behind his precious brother.

It was easy for her to see the torment the young man was going through; the desperate need to help his brother versus the lives of the men now aboard his aircraft, and to do his sworn duty.

No matter how much he loved Sinjin, Stringfellow Hawke could not forfeit the lives of his crew and the men that his brother had sacrificed himself for, to save the only family he had left in the world.

Meg could see the exact moment that the young Stringfellow Hawke made up his mind, the resignation on his face as his hands and feet manipulated the flight controls and she felt the Huey rising off the ground and heard the shrieks of relief from the men in the rear compartment.

She saw the tears streaming down the young pilot's face and watched his jaw working frantically as he fought back sobs of grief and screamed a vow over the radio mike in his helmet that he would come back for his brother and the other men.

Megan watched as the young man was forced to turn the chopper and steer it away from the clearing, rising higher and higher up over the trees, searching for another possible escape route, all the time vowing that he would never stop looking for St John Hawke.

Megan's heart went out to him.

It was such a horrible thing for anyone to have to face, such a terrible choice for any man to have to make, but more so for one so young, and she knew that he had carried the guilt with him for the rest of his life.

Just as she was beginning to come to terms with what she was seeing, suddenly the dream had shifted, and Megan had found herself standing on the side of a long and winding road, lined on each side by lush trees, the air warm and smelling of vegetation, earthy and green.

The sky a vast expanse of pastel blue, with just a hint of gauzy white mist covering the tips of the distant mountains, the few remaining snow fields on the highest peaks tinged with pink here and there, highlighted by the glow of the slowly setting sun.

Suddenly the quiet stillness was disturbed by another loud bang, and Meg found herself spinning around to face the other way, looking down the mountain road, watching as an open topped jeep suddenly began to swerve from one side of the road to the other, the driver doing battle with a steering wheel that stubbornly refused to respond.

She could not make out the identity of the driver as everything was happening so fast and because of the glare of sunlight bouncing of the windshield. She knew that there had to be one and raised her hand to shield her eyes, squinting to try to get a better look as she took a small step back out of the vehicles path.

In the next instant she was watching as the jeep failed to negotiate the sharp bend ahead of it and sailed through the crash barrier and over the side of the mountain.

Then, much to her astonishment, before her very eyes, Meg witnessed a very strange metamorphosis as the jeep change into a beautiful bird of prey, it's terrified screech filling the mountainside, as unable to stretch out its beautiful wings to save its self, the magnificent bird tumbled over and over until it disappeared into the foliage and trees out of sight.

Then, left standing alone on the roadside all that Meg could hear was the sound of the jeep careening down the mountainside, the over revving of the engine, the shattering of glass and the crunching and grating of metal as it collided with trees and rocks, until at last there was one last loud crashing sound, and then all was silent once more.

It was at this point that Meg had woken, startled and scared out of her wits, her heart racing and her hands shaking, and a sickly feeling in the pit of her churning stomach, knowing that she had never before had such a vivid and realistic nightmare.

_**Well, you knew it was coming, kiddo!**_ Megan told herself scornfully, as she took another gulp of the now cooling milk and whisky, pulling a face at the sourness of the alcohol that still clung to her tongue after she swallowed and watched her hands still trembling.

When she had had psychic dreams in the past, she had merely been a witness to the events going on, like watching a movie in her head. Now and again she was made aware of some of the emotions of the people that she was watching, but she didn't usually feel them for herself. She was usually just a bystander, watching events unfold.

If she was affected at all, it was because the things that she saw moved her. They were often distasteful and upsetting and scared her, or disturbed her or made her angry on behalf of the people that she was working for.

She had never before felt as if she were actually there, participating; experiencing all the sights and sounds for her self and it was a shocking new development that she had not been prepared for.

The intensity of it, the clarity of it was new and overwhelming and she suddenly had doubts that she was strong enough to deal with it, without actually losing her self.

Well, at least now she knew for sure that she was right about this having something to do with Stringfellow Hawke.

At least now she was beginning to understand what made him tick just a little better.

It was no wonder he was so cut off emotionally and so guarded, so scared to love and be loved in return.

Stringfellow Hawke equated love with sacrifice. He associated love with pain and loss, because for all of his life, all his experiences of love had resulted in the sacrificing of that individual's life.

From her past dealings with him, Megan had learned a little of his past, had sensed some of the ghosts he carried around with him, and the heartache and guilt he associated with them.

People he cared about died.

It hadn't just happened to him once, but over and over, embedding the belief deep in him that he was responsible, that somehow his love was a poison chalice, killing these people, and so he had made a conscious choice to remain detached and alone.

Except of course, he had omitted one undeniable fact from his little equation. He had forgotten that he was human, and that he was capable of feeling love and inspiring the same feelings in other people.

_**See, I told him we weren't so very different from each other!**_Meg thought to herself sourly, as she took another sip of the milk and whisky concoction.

_**Haven't you been doing the same thing for most of your life too? **_She reminded her self solemnly.

Perhaps that was another reason why she had felt so drawn to Hawke, compelled to offer him a small piece of advice and make him aware that he was not alone. That she too understood.

Hawke went out of his way to make people back off from trying to get close to him, and over the years, Megan Ravenson had learned to do the same, for in the long run it saved her a lot of pain and heartache.

She was just too different, and no-one seemed able to accept her for what she was.

Her gift always got in the way and like it or not, it inspired people to have a strong reaction toward her.

People saw her as Meg the freak, or Meg the fortune teller.

Meg the bearer of bad news, or Meg who might be able to predict a big win on the lottery for them.

She could never just be Meg.

In a way, they were both trying to protect themselves from further pain and misery, but in his mind and in his heart, Stringfellow Hawke was also protecting someone else from what he considered to be inevitable.

He did not want any one else to die just because they cared for him or he cared for them.

With one notable exception.

Dominic Santini.

Returning her attention to the notes she had scribbled on the pad, Meg was puzzled by the two very different locations in the dream. The first quite obviously foreign and alien, a tropical jungle, and from the events she had witnessed, the vivid recollection sending a shudder down her spine and making her hands shake again, probably Vietnam.

That made sense.

Both Hawke brothers were old enough to have seen action in that particular conflict.

Stringfellow had never said anything about his brother, but it made sense to Megan that he had either been killed or was missing in action in Vietnam.

Somehow she had not gleaned any sense that St John Hawke was dead, and she had told String so that last time she had seen him, telling him that his brother wasn't one of those ghosts she had seen from his past, and that he should trust in the gut instinct that was telling him to keep looking for him.

_**Seek and ye shall find.**_

Had Hawke followed that advice and gone and gotten himself in trouble?

The second location was far more benign and tranquil, and hadn't felt so foreign and alien to her.

Stringfellow Hawke lived in a remote log cabin up on Eagle Lake, surrounded by vast tracts of woodland and mountains, Meg recalled from snippets that Dominic Santini had told her about his young friend's home and his inclination to shut himself away from the world, like a hermit.

Magnificent isolation, Dominic had called it, whilst what he had really been thinking was that it was still a self imposed exile. A prison, no matter how beautiful and tranquil or spectacular the view, or how well Hawke lived when he was at home.

Was that what she had seen?

What was she supposed to make of the jeep and that darned bird of prey again?

There was only one thing that made any sense to Megan.

Logic was telling her that there had been some kind of accident, or there was some kind of threat or danger involving Stringfellow Hawke, and the only way she would know for sure was if she sought him out.

If he was fit and well, then perhaps the dreams were indeed all about his brother. Or, perhaps something had happened to Dominic Santini and she was meant to warn Hawke.

Perhaps something had happened to Hawke himself, and she was supposed to warn Dominic.

_**Could it be that straight forward? **_

_**Just for once in her life? **_

_**Could what she saw**__**, and how she interpreted it really be all that there was too it?**_

Either way it meant going to the Santini Air hangar again and playing it by ear.

_**Damn, I knew I wasn't done with you, Stringfellow Hawke!**_

Megan buried her head in her hands and let out a long, deep sigh, wondering how Hawke would react to seeing her again, and if she was strong enough to cope with his scorn and derision and doubts.

_**Well one thing is for sure, kiddo, you're not going to get another peaceful night's sleep until you find out!**_

_**This isn't just going to go away, so you'd better take the bull by the horns and get to the bottom of it!**_


	8. Chapter 8

**_Chapter Seven._**

_**The O'Shannessy Ranch.**_

_**Somewhere in West Texas**_

_**5am.**_

"Should have known I'd find ya here," Patrick 'Patch' O'Shannessy drawled lazily as he came to a halt beside his daughter and gently laid his hand on her shoulder.

She was leaning against the corral fence, eyes drawn to the west, lost in thought, clad in denim jeans and a thick sweater under her coat to protect against the predawn chill, and as she returned from her reverie, blinking in surprise to find her father standing beside her, there was such a sad and distant expression on her face it tugged at her father's heart just a little.

"I'm sorry Daddy, I didn't mean to wake you."

"You didn't," Patch told her matter of factly. "In case you've forgotten, we get started kinda early round here," he gave her a gentle smile to take some of the sting out of his words.

He was a well built man, tall and sturdy with eyes the same blue/gray color as her own, set in a tan and weather beaten face and now there was iron gray hair to replace the once shocking red mane.

"Your Momma thought we had us a genuine burglar for a minute there, but I knew it was just you rattling around. Always were the same, even as a young 'un. If you were up, the whole darned household had to be up too," his smile grew just a little wider now. "I've missed that, Caitlin. I've missed _**you**_."

Patch handed his daughter a mug of hot strong black coffee and watched her wrap long delicate fingers around it's fat body and raise it to her lips, warming her cold hands as she took a sip and then smiled her gratitude to her father.

He knew how long she had been out here and that the chill must surely be seeping into her bones by now.

"Your Momma tells me you got some bee in your bonnet over them folks you work with back there in Los Angeles. I know'd you were stewin' on something, honey, but your Momma, she says you got one of them women's intuition things going on and you gotta go back."

"I don't understand it Daddy, and I can't begin to explain it," Caitlin let out a deep sigh of frustration, unable to stop herself from wondering if her father thought that she was crazy.

She had had barely a wink of sleep all night, her stomach knotted with tension and her thoughts filled with horrific pictures of Hawke and Dom lying bleeding and dying in the wreckage of Airwolf, shot out of the sky in the pursuit of some mission for The Firm.

Of course she had tried to reassure herself that Hawke was too good a pilot to let anyone line him up in their cross hairs, and Airwolf was just about unbeatable with Hawke at her controls, but still she could not shake the feeling of dread that had settled around her heart, and she was even more determined to return to Los Angeles, just to reassure herself that she was being foolish and over reacting and letting her imagination run away with her.

She needed to see for herself that all was well at Santini Air, even if her parents did think her foolish and childish and harebrained.

"You don't need to try to explain it to me, sugar. I understand," Patch reached out and once again laid a reassuring hand on his daughter's shoulder, drawing a rather startled look from her.

"You do?"

"Of course I do," Patch smiled indulgently then. "I been in situations where my gut was telling me something was off, something just didn't add up. I always know'd when trouble of one kind or another was coming, and when your Momma was carrying you young 'uns, something always told me when they were close to being born and that I shouldn't wander off to far," he grinned now.

"Some things you just don't question. When it involves people that you care about, sugar, ya just gotta do what ya gotta do," he reasoned, watching Caitlin's eyes growing wider by the second and her eyebrows disappearing up into her fringe.

"You love this fella, Hawke."

Patch O'Shannessy stated the obvious, or at least what was obvious to him.

He had seen the way Caitlin had watched his older daughter, Gerry, and her husband Garret, so obviously in love, so wrapped up in each other and the arrival of their first child, cozying up on the couch and gazing deeply into each other's eyes after dinner last night, and the obvious hunger and yearning in Cait's eyes as she too saw the love between her sister and her husband, her mind so clearly focused on the fella from California, her expression wistful and a little sad as she pondered on whether she too could hope for a loving relationship like her sister's any time in her future, with the man named Stringfellow Hawke.

Patch watched the denial swiftly rise to his daughter's lips, but then she saw the glint in his eye and clamped her lips tightly together.

She couldn't deny it.

Not now.

Not when Hawke might be in danger. Or dead.

She did love him.

She had loved him practically since the first day she had laid eyes on him, arrogant and exasperating and enigmatic though he might be, but over the months and years she had known him and come to understand him, while her feelings for him had not changed, she had come to realize that he would never see her as anything other than a kid sister, or a close friend.

It hurt, but it was the truth, and so she had learned to live with it.

After coming close to losing both herself and Dominic Santini recently, Hawke had proclaimed to the world that she was part of his family. It wasn't exactly what she might have hoped for from him, but it was better than the complete indifference he had shown up to that point.

It indicated that at least he did feel something.

There were different kinds of love, Caitlin had learned early in her life, and she had just had to alter her feelings from romantic love to sisterly love, because at least that way she wouldn't get so badly hurt when Hawke made it obvious that he would never look to her for anything other than support and unconditional friendship, and turned to other woman in his romantic pursuits.

These pursuits had mostly resulted in safe associations with women who could not touch his heart and cause him further hurt, but the fact that he turned away from her and not toward her had hurt Caitlin deeply for a long time.

She had found herself wanting to scream at him: _**"Look at me, I'm here, I love you, and if you would just give yourself permission to be happy, to live, and let me show you what that could mean and how happy we could be, we could have such a wonderful future together, I know we could!"**_

Instead, she had remained silent, and stoically borne the disappointment and the pain of watching him throw himself at every other woman who crossed his path, the only consolation to her being that they didn't stay longer than a few weeks.

Hawke preferred it that way.

Caitlin had consoled herself with the knowledge that Stringfellow Hawke had no intention of making any deeper commitment to any woman, that it wasn't just her he was avoiding getting involved with.

"He don't feel the same way for you, am I right?

"Yeah," Caitlin let out a deep sigh and hung her head sorrowfully.

"Then he's a blind fool, but that don't matter right now. His feelings for you don't matter a hide nor a hair, darlin'. You love him, and you feel strongly that he needs you, that he is in trouble?"

"Yeah, Daddy," there were tears glistening in Caitlin's eyes when she raised her head to face her father. "I love him, and I have to be there for him, in what ever way he needs me," and now there was a hint of defiance in her voice, steel gray eyes challenging her father to contradict her.

"Sure you do."

Caitlin's eyes almost popped out of her head as she registered her father's words, and then suddenly she was grinning like a fool even though a sole tear was trickling down her cheek at the same time.

"Thanks, Daddy. Thanks for understanding."

"I'm human too, although there was a nasty rumor goin' around a few years back that I was part bull!" Patch chuckled, reaching out now with a steady hand to lightly brush away his daughter's tears with his calloused thumb, dazzled by her beautiful and beguiling smile as always.

If he were absolutely honest, Patch could not understand how any man could not be enchanted with Caitlin. She was a delight, sweet natured and gentile when it was required, a bit vague and scatter brained at times, granted, but she also had a spine of steel and an iron will and would never be one of those weak, simpering women, needy and cloying. She was smart and emotionally strong as well as beautiful, tolerant and understanding. She knew her own mind and was not afraid to stand up for what she believed in too and to support the people that she loved.

Patch didn't know much about the man in Los Angeles. Caitlin rarely spoke of him with her father, but there were the occasional snippets, things that Caitlin had told her mother, that Maureen had passed on to him, and he had found himself thinking that this Hawke fella was either so badly damaged emotionally he was too afraid to take a chance with any woman, or he was a cold hearted selfish son of a gun who didn't deserve Caitlin's love.

Either way, Caitlin Mary O'Shannessy was better off without him, or at least her father, Patrick, had begun to think as much.

However, he had forgotten to take into consideration one thing.

Caitlin her self.

She would not give her heart away to any man she did not think would treasure it and value it and take good care of it.

Caitlin knew Hawke, understood what made him the man that he was, and she loved him just the same, faults and all.

Who was he to question her heart?

"Bull headed, I'll agree to that much. And you're just the same," he cupped her face gently with a hand that was as tough as leather, but his touch was light and gentle and reassuring and Caitlin found herself raising her free hand to lay it over the top of his, patting it gently, then removing it from her cheek, gently took it in her own, turned it over and gave it a loving squeeze.

"When you get an idea in your head, no hurricane or typhoon or act of God will get it out until you check it out for yourself. I always admired you for that, Caitlin. You always had to make sure for yourself, never just took someone's word that because they said something it was right. That's why you were such a good police officer, and why you got up ol' JJ Bogan's nose. You just won't leave things alone."

He paused for a moment, as though silently debating the wisdom of going on with what was on his mind, and if he could utter it with the sincerity it required.

"You also have a big, warm heart and a sweet nature and I'm sure one day this Hawke fella will see for himself what a wonderful gal you are, and how much you love him, and he won't be able to resist having a piece of that for himself, sugar. You just carry on chasing him, until he catches ya!"

"Daddy! Nobody's doing any chasing. We're just friends," Caitlin protested. "And it doesn't matter if I want more than that or not, because Hawke has made it clear he doesn't. I'm not sure if he will ever let himself love again, Daddy, he's been too badly hurt in the past," Caitlin confided now.

"That may be so, darlin', but you mark my words, one of these days he's gonna wake up and realize that you are just what he needs to heal him and bring the sunshine back into his heart. When that day comes, you bring him on out here and we'll show him what true Texas hospitality is."

Caitlin was surprised by the invitation, and touched by her father's unexpected confidence that one day Stringfellow Hawke would see the error of his ways and wake up to the fact that she loved him and could make him happy, more so because she suspected that deep down he did not whole heartedly approve of Hawke and was secretly glad that the man had the good sense to distance himself from his precious, head strong daughter.

Now, Caitlin found herself thinking, the only thing that she had to do to make that day become a reality, was prove to Hawke that by loving him she would not be forfeiting her life, that she would not die and leave him alone, covered with guilt and grief once more.

_**Give me a simple job why don't you!**_

"Listen to me, Caitlin, some times, as a man gets older, he starts to see things differently, he begins to see the world with new eyes and begins to re-evaluate his life and his plans and his future expectations. You're friend Hawke made up his mind about his future when he was young, and probably still in pain, grieving and hurt,"

Patch regarded his daughter with questioning eyes now and she nodded in response, confirming his suspicions.

"Those things can make a man make hasty decisions, they can make a man determined to kill any kind of peace or happiness or pleasure in his heart, to save it from further damage," Caitlin found herself nodding softly, knowing all too well that that sounded exactly like what Stringfellow Hawke had done, and was still doing.

"He's got this cockamamie idea in his head that if he loves someone it will get them killed," she spoke in a low, sad voice.

"Nothing is set in stone, darlin'. The longer he sees you sticking around, alive and vibrant and not afraid to show him that you care, the more likely it is one day he'll wake up and realize that he's wrong about the people he loves dying on him."

Patch O'Shannessy paused to take in a shallow breath, feeling just a little more tolerance and understanding in his heart for the young man named Hawke, realizing that something pretty shocking must have happened to him to make him withdraw so deeply.

However, like his wife, Maureen, he was relieved that the man had enough sense to keep Caitlin at arm's length, not encouraging her in the slightest, or offering her even the smallest hope that things might be different between them.

Hawke was probably trying to protect her from his bitterness, his jaundiced view of life and love, his fear to commit his heart once more, and trying to ensure that his determination to remain alone did not hurt Caitlin, and Patch was grateful to him for that.

Things were starting to make sense to him now, and he could not help thinking that perhaps Caitlin was right.

Perhaps the young man would never allow himself to feel love again.

If he never opened that particular door he was never likely to feel that kind of hurt again.

Yet, even knowing all that about him, Caitlin obviously still harbored some small hope in a dark corner of her heart, and was still hurt and disappointed.

_**Ah Cait, **__**my darlin' Cait, you can't chose who you fall in love with, and unfortunately, you can't make them fall in love with you in return!**_

After a moment, he raised steady blue/gray eyes to his daughter's lovely face, a solemn expression now settling on his still handsome and familiar weathered features.

"Promise me one thing, sugar. If your young friend, Hawke, don't come to his senses, if he don't wake up and see the joy and the wonder and the fulfillment he could find in loving you, right there under his nose, you won't waste your love on him," Caitlin immediately made to respond but Patch stilled her by gently squeezing her hand.

"Hear me out, Caitlin, that's all I ask of you."

Caitlin nodded letting out a soft little sigh of frustration and resignation.

"You are young and beautiful and have so much to offer any man, darlin'. So, if some other young fella comes along, and he's smart enough to realize what a prize he'd be getting in Caitlin Mary O'Shannessy, you grab the bull by the horns and take a chance with him, make a good life for yourself with a man who sees the good in you and wants to make you happy for the rest of your life."

"You're not a child now, Caitlin, and I'm not wanting to tell you how to live your life. That's your decision, your choice, but remember, sugar, there is only so much time in a person's life to do the things they want and to have the things they want. You know what I mean. A loving husband and kids and a home of your own. If your friend Hawke can't find it in his heart to offer you those things, then look for someone else who can and will. Promise me?"

"Daddy …."

"Just promise me that you will try to be good to yourself, sugar, and we'll agree to leave the rest in the good Lord's hands for now."

Patch gave his beautiful daughter's hand a gentle squeeze, watching as tears welled up in her eyes once more.

"You deserve the best things in life, darlin'. All I ask is that you don't deny yourself every chance to find them."

"Ok," Caitlin gulped, swallowing down the lump of emotion in the back of her throat, knowing that her father was right.

She shouldn't waste her life waiting for Hawke to make up his mind whether he was willing to take a risk on loving her.

She shouldn't let the opportunity for a husband and a family to pass her by, waiting for a man who was just too scared to open himself up to even the possibility.

_**Now if she could just make herself believe it!**_

"Good girl. We wouldn't want to disappoint your Momma now, would we! Between you me and that fence post over there, she's got your wedding planned down to the last detail!" Patch let out a shout of laughter now, and Caitlin knew that he was speaking the truth.

Neither of her two brothers were married, but marrying sons off was not quite the same thing to a mother as seeing her daughters settled with the right man.

Maureen O'Shannessy probably had the hymns and the menu and the bridesmaids already picked out for her, and the last thing Caitlin wanted to do was spoil those plans for her mother.

She had plans of her own.

What girl didn't?

One day.

Yes, she wanted a husband and a family and a home of her own. One day.

Caitlin knew that all that her father was saying was, if it wasn't to be with Stringfellow Hawke then she shouldn't shut her self off to the possibility that someone else might wheedle his way into her heart and that she could be just as happy, or maybe even happier with him.

Mr Right.

Sure. One day.

Yet even as she thought about it, Caitlin found herself silently acknowledging that she knew that she had already found her Mr Right and that if he didn't think she was his Miss Right then one day she might just have to settle for Mr Second Best, and that thought made her heart sick.

"So, what was the plan? You fixin' to borrow one of the cars and drive to the airport in San Antonio?" Patch O'Shannessy asked, watching the myriad of emotions racing across his daughter's lovely face and deciding that it was time to change the subject.

He had given her plenty to think about for now.

He watched Caitlin's expression change now and tried to smother a smile at the guilty look that suddenly crossed her face.

"I would have left a note, and gas money," Caitlin dropped her eyes guiltily then raised her gaze once more when she heard her father's soft chuckle, knuckling away an errant tear at the same time.

"Sure, and any minute now the Lone Ranger is gonna ride in and beg your Momma to make him some of her famous pancakes!" Patch threw back his head and roared with laughter at his joke.

Caitlin raised the mug to her lips and took another welcome sip of the coffee while she waited for her father to calm down.

"I don't mind you borrowing the car, sugar, but I got a better idea," Patch regarded her with a somewhat smug expression on his dear weather beaten face now.

Caitlin tipped her head slightly to one side, a frown tugging at her brow as she tried to fathom out what was going on inside his head, and if he would ever lose the ability to surprise her.

"I know you're all fired up and ready to head off as soon as the sun comes up, but it really isn't going to make that much difference if you hold fire just for a little while, maybe stick around and have some breakfast with me and your Momma, and then I'll drive you to the air port myself," he offered in a soft voice.

"That way it will give us all a little more time to be together, and between you and me and my old friend that fence post over there, I need a little time to myself. Three hours driving back from San Antonio on my own will suit me just fine," he lowered his voice to a more conspiratorial tone now.

"I love this old place, sugar, but sometimes these eyeballs have a hankering to see something different from dust and cows and horses," Patch grinned broadly.

Caitlin knew that her father was right.

There was no real need to rush off. She had called the airport the previous evening and knew that she wouldn't be able to get a direct non stop flight to LAX until at least mid day, so she had plenty of time. Better to spend it with her family than sitting on her own in the airport lounge worrying about things she could not control. After all, she did not know when she might be home with them again.

"Deal?"

"Deal."

"That's my gal!"

Patch O'Shannessy reached out and slipped his arm lightly around Caitlin's waist, drawing her close as they began to walk back toward the farmhouse.

"I know ya gotta go and all, and I sure hope it turns out your friends are alright, and I know you have a job that you love and are good at, but we sure do miss ya around here, gal. Always remember that, and remember that there is always a home for you here, no matter what."

"I know that, Daddy. I love you all too. I'll try not to stay away so long next time. And maybe the next time I come home I'll be able to bring Hawke with me."

"And why not bring the old timer too. I'm sure him and me would find something to jaw about."

"Yeah, Daddy, I'm sure you would, and I think that Mr Santini would like that too, although I don't think he'd like you to call him an old timer! He's not much older than you, so if that makes him old, what does that make you, Daddy?"

"Cheek!"

Patch lowered his hand to swat at her behind gently, a huge grin splitting his face as he saw the amusement and the familiar sparkle of life in Caitlin's eyes and he knew that he was truly blessed to have such a wonderful creature as this for a daughter.

"Daddy!" Caitlin gave a soft squeal, dodging out his way, her backside still a little sore from falling off her horse yesterday.

"I'm sorry, sugar, I forgot," Patch wrestled with another grin. "Next time you come home, I'll teach ya how to ride that old mare without getting dumped in the dust!" he chuckled softly. "Now, you scoot on inside and help your Momma with the vitals while I go shake Jake out of his crib and tell him what needs doing around here while I'm gone."

Jake Kincaid was a quiet, somber individual in his late forties and he had been the Ranch Foreman for almost ten years now. He was good at his job and respectful to her father and mother. He helped her older brother Andy keep the ranch and the stock and the men in good order and both men were grateful to be given such a free hand to run the O'Shannessy place pretty much as they liked on a day to day basis, with only Patrick's gentle guidance now and again. Caitlin was glad that Jake was around, especially since Andy had moved into town with his latest girlfriend six months before.

Having Jake around meant that she didn't worry so much about her parents being so isolated and alone out here on the range and it gave Andy a chance to spread his wings and experience a little more of life outside of the O'Shannessy ranch before he settled down and bought his family back here to live.

"Andy will be here in about fifteen minutes, and starving as usual. Lordy I don't know what that gal feeds him because he's always ready to eat us out of house and home!"

With that, Patch O'Shannessy leaned toward his daughter to plant a soft kiss on her cheek then veered off to take the well trodden path toward the bunk house leaving Caitlin with a soft smile on her lips as she watched him go.


	9. Chapter 9

**_Chapter Eight._**

_**Somewhere in Washington State,**_

_**Early morning.**_

He opened is eyes again, at last.

He had no idea what time it was, but the sun was up, beating fiercely through the tangle of branches over head.

Thinking about the time he came to the sudden realization that he was wearing a watch on his left wrist. It was an expensive looking timepiece with a wide black dial with luminous white markings on the face and a thick black leather strap.

Hope quickened his heart, however as soon as he raised his left hand to his face to take a look at it, he realized that it wasn't going to be much use to him. The glass face was shattered, the second hand still.

_**So much for being shock proof and shatter proof!**_ He thought sarcastically to himself.

It might not be much use for telling the time any more, but perhaps it could still hold a vital clue to his identity.

_**People sometimes gave their loved ones watches as gifts, and had something engraved on the back, didn't they?**_ He thought hopefully. Again he did not know how he knew that, but what did it matter?

Maybe this particular watch had been a gift for a significant birthday, or event in his life, from his parents, sister, brother, wife?

Immediately the last thought entered his consciousness he saw a face flash quickly before his mind's eye, a young woman with long red gold hair framing her pleasant open features and falling around her shoulders. Her eyes were warm, a sparkling blue/gray color, full of the vitality of life and shining with love and affection and she had the cutest smile.

Something that sounded like it might be a name also flashed through his mind and he opened his mouth to say it out loud, but he could not hold on to it and he let out a gasp of disappointment and frustration as he realized that his heart was beating just a little quicker, his hands were shaking and there were tears trickling down his cheeks.

_**Dammit, why can't I hold a thought in my head! **_He demanded silently.

That was the second time that he had seen a woman's face, and he had no idea what either one of them meant to him. However, as he had been pondering on whether the watch might have been a gift from perhaps someone as close to him as a wife, he could not help wondering if that was what had stirred the memory and if the beautiful red head was someone he cared for, like a wife.

_**Oh hell!**_

_**So who was the blonde? And what did she mean to him?**_

_**One way to find out, look at the damned watch!**_

Maybe one of these two women had given him the watch as a gift.

_**It was a long shot, but worth checking out, right?**_

He knuckled away the tears from his cheeks impatiently, telling himself that it was the sudden brightness that had made his eyes water, then with shaking fingers he quickly removed the watch from his wrist and turned it over, raising it closer to his face and peering through bleary eyes at the silver metal on the back to see if there was any kind of inscription there, a name, something to tell him who he was, but there was nothing. Nothing at all.

Maybe the watch hadn't been a gift at all? Maybe he had liked it and bought it for himself?

Disappointed he sank back to the floor and closed his eyes against the brightness of the new day, feeling fresh tears trickling down the sides of his face.

_**You win some, you lose some. **_

_**Them's the breaks, buddy.**_

_**Get over it!**_

He knew that it had been a long shot, but he had found himself hoping that he might find a name there.

His own, and or, one of the ladies.

It would have been something a little more substantial to hold on to, something to motivate him to stay alive.

Getting home to the woman that he loved.

_**I'm sorry ladies. You'll just have to give me more time.**_

Obviously they were both important to him, and it gave him small comfort to know that he wasn't all alone in the world after all, that there was someone who would miss him, someone to possibly raise the alarm when he failed to show up eventually.

It was still something positive to cling to. He did have someone whom he cared about to get home to, someone to make fighting to stay alive worth while.

Perhaps it was a positive sign that his memory was coming back, piece by piece, slowly and infuriatingly enigmatic, but coming back just the same. Given time, perhaps he would remember something significant to help him find his way home.

So he didn't have her name just yet. He was confident that it would come to him, eventually.

_**So what if he did still have a big hole where his memory used to be? He was alive wasn't he!**_

_**Yeah, against all odds, he was still alive, when there had been a point in the darkness when even he had begun to doubt that he would survive.**_

He had vague recollections of having roused several times before, only to find total darkness surrounding him, as he curled in on himself, teeth chattering and shivers consuming him as the cold night bit into his weakened body.

He vaguely recalled that he had tried to move, but his body had felt like lead, weighted down, and all he could do was roll over onto his side, wait out the fit of coughing and gagging, and then curl himself up into as a tight a ball as he could, drawing his knees up into his chest as best he could without hurting himself too much, in the hope of keeping warm, and staying alive.

He also recalled strange images of a steaming, dripping jungle.

Dark and deeply disturbing images of death and pain.

A feeling of great anxiety and frustration.

Horrendous, deafening noise one minute. Screams rending the stillness of the night the next, and he had woken at one point with his heart beating frantically in his chest, tears streaming down his face only to realize that the screams that had woken him had been torn from his own lips.

Memories or nightmares, he did not know for sure, but they had been terrifyingly real and damned unsettling, one word repeating over and over in his head as he remembered the images.

War.

_**So, had he been a soldier once? **_

_**Was the war still on? Was he still a soldier? **_

He wasn't wearing a uniform right now but that didn't mean that he wasn't still serving and on active duty.

_**Maybe he was on leave, or maybe he had been on an undercover mission and gotten separated from**__** the rest of his unit?**_

He let out a deep groan now and squinting in the early morning brightness raised his right hand to his forehead to shield his eyes.

No, somehow that didn't seem right. This wasn't the same place as in his dream. It didn't feel foreign and it didn't feel quite so disturbing.

It felt familiar.

Like home.

He had survived the night. However, he was almost certain that in this weakened condition, out in the open, exposed, he would not survive another.

_**He had to find help.**_

_**Even if he died trying**__**.**_

For if he didn't even try then he most assuredly would die.

Cold, hurt, alone.

_**Get help.**_

_**Have to get help.**_

_**Must get help**__**.**_

He kept chanting the words over and over silently in his head, like a mantra, as he struggled to sit up once more. Driven by the instinct to survive. The obstinacy to live at all cost.

_**He wouldn't give in.**_

_**He couldn't.**_

_**He wasn't a quitter**__**.**_

He still had no idea who the devil he was, but he did know that he wasn't a quitter.

And now he knew that he had someone waiting for him, someone worth living for. Hell would freeze over before he gave up now that he knew that.

Ok, so the watch was a dead end, but it suddenly occurred to him that perhaps he had some thing else on him that would tell him who he was, a letter with his name on it or a driver's license.

Discarding the broken time piece without another thought about sentimentality and who might have given it to him, he carefully patted himself down, covering the pockets in his jacket and in his pants, but there was nothing.

_**Money, dammit, I must have had some money, and how the hell did I get here without transport? **_

A wallet.

_**Yeah, I must have had a**__** wallet with cash and my driver's license in it, but I guess I must have lost it.**_

_**Dammit, when are you gonna give me a break!**_

_**Hey kid, get a grip! Calm down and start thinking!**_

He had no intention of dying here, alone, not knowing who the hell he was or what kind of mark he had left on the world.

Obstinacy and curiosity would keep him alive.

_**As they surely had before.**_

_**Yes**__**.**_

As they surely had before, back there, in that wretched, steaming jungle that had blighted his dreams last night, back there when he had been a soldier, fighting to stay alive.

_**You can't stop fighting now, soldier!**_

_**So get **__**up off your fat sorry ass, and find yourself some help buddy!**_ He ordered himself sternly, although if he were truly honest with himself, the only thing he really wanted to do was just lie still and close his eyes.

He was so tired.

So weak, his limbs feeling like lead, so stiff and alien.

Disorientated, nauseous and sore.

And all he had to look forward to was that stomach churning, muscle aching and lung burning climb.

_**And h**__**elp kid.**_

_**Salvation.**_

_**There just has to be someone around who can help you.**_

_**Maybe a house**__**? Maybe a farm? Traffic on a road?**_

_**So you're stranded in the forest, but there just has to be civilization**__** close by somewhere.**_

_**Let's face it, **__**you really need help. **_

_**Food, water, **__**shelter, medical assistance.**_

_**And you're not **__**gonna find it sitting here on your duff in the dust, that's for sure.**_

_**So haul ass**__**!**_

_**Right now!**_

With a heartfelt groan of misery, he put all his effort into getting up onto his knees, staggering and pitching forward as the world before his eyes tipped and rocked and swayed, his head feeling like it was in a vice and his eyes burning with hot, salty tears.

He gagged and heaved and coughed for several seconds and then, taking every ounce of strength and willpower that he possessed, staggered to his feet once more and grabbed hold of the first solid object he could find. The long dead tree stump.

He clung to the dry, brittle tree stump with shaking arms, waiting for the world to still and his legs to stop shaking, drawing in careful breaths and feeling sharp, stabbing pains in his chest as his lungs expanded and also becoming aware of fresh pain radiating from his left knee and right wrist.

_**Damn!**__** That's all you need! **_

_**Something else to slow you down!**_

When he felt a little steadier on his feet, he raised his eyes to the terrain ahead of him, feeling his heart rate increase as he was once again faced with that steep, slippery climb and remembered all too clearly his terrifying, uncontrolled free fall backward.

Perhaps he should think again about going up there, especially if one slip could result in his ending up right back here again?

Wasn't it just as likely that he could find help and civilization by going down the hillside?

At least if he was going to slip or fall, he would be making progress, not losing ground and faced with having to start over again.

_**Ok, so let**__**'s think about this logically. **_

_**You tried **__**going up and look where you are. Exactly where you started with a world full of hurt you didn't have the first time around.**_

_**You can't beat gravity. **_

_**What goes up must come down.**_

He tired to remember how he knew that, where he had heard it before but came up blank, but then realized that it must be true.

_**Sure it is, pal, you just proved it!**_

_**You can't afford to keep doing more damage to yourself**__**, and with a bum knee and a weak wrist, that climb is going to be almost impossible this time around.**_

_**So why not try going down?**_

_**Isn't it more logical to have a slightly more controlled decent rather than end up free falling again? **_

_**Next time you might not be so lucky and end up breaking you neck!**_

He looked upwards once more, then warily cast his glance over the ledge to his right, trying to decide what he should do.

_**Up or down? **__**C'mon pal, make up your mind! **_He told himself sternly after several seconds of indecision.

_**Up or down?**_

_**Staying here isn't an option, so make a decision and stick to it!**_

_**Now get moving!**_

After one last look up at the steep slope and slippery ground covered in dead leaves and rocks and mud, testing his weight carefully and wincing at the pain that shot through his knee, as well as his already sore ankle, he hopped slowly, inching his way closer to the edge of the ledge, knuckling away a sudden trickle of blood from his nose as he peered myopically over and down, finding only more of the same kind of terrain, lots of trees and shrubs and foliage and deep, dark shadows.

_**Where the hell is the ground?**_ He found himself thinking as he blinked perspiration out of his eyes but it was impossible to tell in the shadows below.

_**You want me to jump off this ledge without the aid of a parachute?**_ He thought sarcastically to himself as he blinked away another trickle of perspiration.

_**You have no idea what is down there, or how far it is to the next piece of solid ground!**_

_**Hell, you're getting a nose bleed from just looking down!**_

_**Quit whining soldier, unless of course you want to die right here on this ledge!**_

_**No sir! That is not an option, sir!**_

With a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach, he knew that there was nothing else for it.

His new injuries, although not serious, would make it almost impossible for him to even attempt to make that steep climb again.

He had to go down, it was the only sensible course of action to take because he was already weak and on the point of exhaustion, and going down, either slipping, sliding or falling would be less physically demanding and require less energy than climbing.

But first, he had to know just how far that drop was.

As he moved carefully, he spotted a fist sized gray stone lying on the ground just within his reach and he bent over slowly, swallowing down hard as a wave of dizziness and nausea rolled over him once more as he reached out and scooped up the heavy rock.

Straightening up slowly and standing upright once more, keeping the weight off his wrenched knee and weighing the rock in the palm of his hand, he inched closer to the edge.

Holding out his hand, he allowed the rock to fall from his fingers over the precipice, watching it swiftly disappear, swallowed up in the gloom below as he counted silently in his head, listening as the rock clattered and crashed through the foliage snapping dried out dead branches on the way down until it stopped, presumably when it hit solid ground.

He was somewhat relieved to find that there was no splashing sound, so at least he wasn't about to jump off a cliff and into a fast flowing, freezing cold river and drown.

He had reached the count of five before the noise stopped, and assumed that that meant that perhaps there was another ledge, or some form of terra firma approximately five or ten feet below him.

_**Oh well, it could have been worse. At least you won't be taking an early bath!**_

_**If you can bail out of an aircraft at twenty thousand feet, this should be a piece of cake!**_

_**Now where did that come from? **_

He had suddenly seen a brief flash of himself tumbling out of the back of a large airplane with a whoop of glee, experienced the heady and exhilarating sensation of falling through the sky until he engaged the ripcord on his parachute and felt the tugging sensation of the chute deploying and yanking upward, briefly, before he continued his descent.

_**Where had that been? When? Back there in the war again?**_

He had no answer for himself, except the sure and certain knowledge that he could make a jump like that in his sleep he had done it so often, both in training and in real combat situations.

_**Piece of cake**__**, huh?**_

_**Just remember when you land to bend your knees, to cushion the impact, and then tuck yourself up into a ball and roll on to your side.**_

_**Piece of cake.**_

_**Yeah. Right.**_

So what are you waiting for?

_**I've got a better idea, pal!**_ He thought silently to himself as he debated the wisdom of just stepping out over the edge. He wasn't sure if he was ready for quite such a leap of faith just yet.

_**How about I sit on the edge**__** and maneuver myself so that I am dangling and then I can gently lower myself down by my arms and then let go? Not so far to drop that way.**_ He reasoned with himself, praying that his wrist would not give out on him.

_**I don't care how you do it, buddy, just get on with it!**_

Wincing with pain, he managed to get himself back down on the ground, winded and with perspiration running down his face into his eyes once more, he waited until he got his breath back and his vision cleared and then positioned himself so that he was lying face down, parallel to the edge of the ledge.

Slowly, painfully and very carefully, mindful of his sore ribs, he swung his legs out over the edge, his waist pressed into the sharp uneven edge of the ledge, the toes of his shoes scraping against the face of the small cliff as he tried to find purchase, digging his toes in to stop the weight of his legs pulling him off the ledge before he was ready, bracing his upper body with his forearms flat against the edge of the ledge.

_**Oh man, whose dumb idea was this!**_

With infinite care, he moved his upper body away from the ledge, lowering him self very slowly, allowing his arms room to extend and his elbows to lock so that his whole body now dangled over the precipice, and only his finger tips remained on the ledge.

He figured he was about five feet seven or eight inches tall, so if the drop was only ten feet, that left just short of four and a half feet before his feet would touch the ground.

_**So what are you waiting for? You don't have time to hang around all day!**_

_**Oh boy, when did you suddenly become a comedian?**_

_**I really gotta stop talking to myself!**_

_**Here goes nothing!**_

Closing his eyes and praying that it would indeed only be a short drop, that his feet would encounter solid ground within seconds, he drew in a long, calming breath and allowed his fingers to relax.

Gravity did its job as predicted and he found himself falling, not straight down as he had hoped, but backward, away from the small cliff, arms cart wheeling as he let out a shout of horror.

His feet hit the ground after roughly thirty seconds, but his momentum carried him backward, the ground falling away at a forty five degree angle beneath his back, propelling him head first down another steeply angled stretch of rock covered dirt.

As he slid on his back down the mountain, unable to see where he was going, he flung his arms out desperately, fingertips trying to dig into the ground, hoping that it would slow him down.

Then the terrain changed, more greenery closing in around him and he tried to reach out for something to slow his progress, but all he could find was loose rocks or flimsy shrubs which did nothing to reduce his speed, whipping across his face and slapping into his body, as he slithered and bounced over the uneven ground, cracking his head and jarring his whole body, until finally he realized that there was nothing beneath him at all, and he was once again falling through the air with no idea where the ground was, his body tumbling, bouncing and slamming through the boughs of long dead trees, slowing his descent at last, until he landed on the ground with a loud thud, the wind knocked out of him, pain shooting through every inch of his body as he slowly rolled to a stop, coming to rest at last, lying half in and half out of a gently gurgling stream.

Emitting one long, loud groan of agony he found himself once again relinquishing his hold on consciousness and slipped thankfully into the dark void of oblivion.


	10. Chapter 10

**_Chapter Nine._**

_**Santini Air Hangar,**_

_**Van Nuys, California,**_

_**Mid**__** afternoon.**_

"I finished changing the oil on the Cayuse, Mr Santini. The MacDonald job," Jimmy Flynn grinned broadly as he addressed the owner of Santini Air, his boss, wiping his grease and oil stained hands on the corner of an equally grease and oil stained rag hanging from the pocket of his coverall. "She's a real beauty and running like a dream now!" the younger man chuckled happily.

Jimmy was a good kid, keen to learn and eager to impress Dominic Santini since he had gotten Stringfellow Hawke to put in a good word for him with the boss and talked him into giving him a small raise.

In truth, Dominic Santini had been happy to take Jimmy on part time, working around his engineering course at college, because the kid had been hanging around the hangar sticking his nose into engines and hanging off of his and String's every word so long he was part of the fixtures and fittings.

About five years ago Dominic Santini had placed a broom in the scrawny kid's hand and told him if he was going to be hanging around he should make himself useful and sweep the hangar while he was following them around and the next thing he knew, Jimmy was there bright and early every Saturday morning, broom in hand and eager to learn anything from mopping up the hangar and making the coffee to overhauling the engine from a majestic old Steerman.

Jimmy had proved to be a quick study, picking things up from just watching Hawke and Santini as they maintained the Santini Air fleet of choppers and the antique aircraft other pilots and collectors brought to them to overhaul or renovate and Dominic Santini had soon learned that whilst the youngster had not the slightest inclination to learn to fly one of the magnificent machines he so admired, he was enthralled by engines and learning about what made them work.

After he had turned up on time and full of enthusiasm every Saturday morning for a couple of months straight, Stringfellow Hawke had casually drawn the youngster into conversation and discovered that his father had recently died and his mother was struggling to keep the wolf from the door.

Jimmy had first come to the hangar in the hopes of getting work but had been enchanted both by the aircraft that filled the hangar and the two men who were both pilots and mechanics.

He had always liked watching his father tinkering with their car and after coming to the hangar for a few weeks he had soon realized that here was something that he enjoyed and could do well, and that might prove lucrative to him in the future.

The things he was learning at Hawke's and Santini's side were infinitely more important to him than the money he had hoped he might earn doing odd jobs around the hangar.

Naturally, after hearing that, Dominic Santini's guilt gene had kicked in and he had been pleased to slip a few dollars into the kids hand at the end of the day, because he was a nice kid, quiet and thoughtful and pleasant, and it was good to have another youngster around the place who was genuinely interested in learning.

Santini had known that he should have done it sooner, but he had been waiting to see how long the fad lasted, having learned that even the most enthusiastic kids lost interest when they realized that it was hard and dirty work and far from glamorous and definitely not what they had dreamed.

After just a few lessons, both Hawke and Santini had agreed that Jimmy was a natural born mechanic, and both had encouraged him to take an interest in basic maintenance.

Jimmy had lapped up the attention and proved to be a bright student and Dominic Santini had found himself thinking that it had been a terrific investment of both his time and his experience, benefiting both of them, and silently he had found the unadulterated hero worship flattering and boosted his ego no end.

Having Jimmy around had reminded him of bygone days when he had been a role model to two other eager young men, the orphaned Hawke brothers, trailing around after him, learning how to get along with each other while learning about the mysteries of the internal combustion engine, feeding their joy of aircraft and their obsession with flying, and learning how to make their way in the world and to be the kind of men that they could both be proud of.

When Jimmy had graduated High School and had chosen to take an engineering qualification, the first thing he did was reassure Dominic Santini that he wouldn't fall down on the job or let him down, and the kid had kept his word, always showing up on time and as eager to get on with things as he had always been.

When his vacation plans had fallen through, and he had decided that the last thing he really wanted was to stay home alone watching television, drinking beer and worrying over his best friend Harry Manning and his wife, Muriel, still clinging to life despite a second and much more serious stroke, that he needed something to take his mind off things, and work seemed to be just the ticket, the first thing Dominic Santini had done was call Jimmy to tell him that he would be at the hangar after all if he fancied dropping by for some overtime, and as expected, the kid had been so eager he had almost let out a whoop of joy on the other end of the line.

"Huh?" Santini glanced up from the piece of paper he was writing on, a frown tugging at his brow beneath his red silk baseball cap and watched as young Jimmy indicated over his shoulder with his thumb to the helicopter parked out in the sunlight on the strip of tarmac outside the Santini Air hangar.

"The oil job?" Jimmy reminded, still beaming.

"Oh yeah. Ok, kid. I'll check on it in a couple of minutes. Need to concentrate on making out this here invoice for Mr MacDonald. Wouldn't want to over charge him, or worse still, under charge him!" Santini chuckled although it was clear to Jimmy Flynn that there was something weighing on the older man's mind.

"You can make a start on closing the place down for the night. I know we're a couple of hours short of regular quitting time, but I'll pay you to the end of the day if that's ok with you?"

It was a little early, but Jimmy suspected that his boss had plans for the evening ahead, and he was never one to turn down an early mark, especially if he was going to get paid his usual rate.

"Sure thing, Mr S. You planning to stop by the hospital to visit with your friend and his wife?" the young man inquired casually.

"Yeah," Santini let out a sad little sigh and still frowning at the figures on the invoice before him, scratched absently at his forehead before looking back up to focus on Jimmy's face once more.

"It's not looking too good for her, kid, and he's in a bad way too."

"I'm sorry, Mr S. Been married a long time, huh?"

"Yeah, Jimmy, longer than you've been alive."

"You heard anything from String?" Jimmy asked watching Santini's expression change to one of sorrow and anxiety as he thought about his old friend's plight, wanting to take his mind off his sadness, if only briefly.

"Nah. Not expecting to. Far as he knows I'm swigging back beer with the guys somewhere in France right now," Santini sighed again, wistfully this time, as he thought about what he had been planning to do with his time this week before his schedule had been changed by circumstances beyond his control.

Santini found himself hoping that his young friend Stringfellow Hawke was having a pleasant and restful vacation and enjoying his visit with his old friend Charlie Roth.

"When's he due back?"

"When he gets tired of all that crystal clear air and mountain greenery I guess."

"You want some coffee before I make a start on tidying up?"

"No thanks, kid. My back teeth are already floating I've drunk so much of the stuff today. One more cup and I won't sleep for the rest of the month!"

"Ok. I'll go make a start on shutting the place down then."

"Yeah. You do that."

Dominic Santini continued filling in the figures on the invoice before him, pausing now and again to try to remember exactly what they had used to bring the old Hughes OH-6 Cayuse up to scratch, every part and man hour, as well as various local and Federal taxes and then when it was finally completed to his satisfaction, hitching his pants up around his ample waist, Santini strolled out of the hangar and into the late afternoon sunlight, making for the Cayuse parked on the tarmac.

She was a beautiful machine with pristine white livery, gold landing skids and the elaborate stylized MacDonald Oil Company logo of Texas style Lone Star intertwined with a golden capital Italic M and an oil rig emblazoned on the tail.

Dominic Santini spent several minutes reading the maintenance log and then double checking that Jimmy Flynn had completed each job satisfactorily, the oil change being the last job on the list, and that he had cleaned up properly after himself.

When he was satisfied that the work had been completed correctly Santini let the engine run for a few minutes, listening to the pitch and tone, noting every nuance, agreeing with Jimmy's assessment that she was running smoothly and then climbed into the cockpit to check the oil pressure and oil temperature gauges to make sure that all was well, then he shut off the engine, remaining in the cockpit until the main rotor began to slow down, and finally stopped, his thoughts again drifting to Muriel Manning lying there in her hospital bed.

He hated to say it, but she was more dead than alive now, the doctor having told her husband, his old friend Harry, that the last stroke had caused a lot of damage to the left side of her brain, affecting the speech center and causing paralysis in her right arm and leg and that it was uncertain if she would ever regain consciousness.

What the young man had left unsaid was the hardest thing to deal with. That it would probably be better all around if she didn't regain consciousness.

It was just a matter of time now, when, not if, she slipped away and Santini was dreading the moment for he suspected that Harry would simply give up on living too.

It wasn't fair.

They were still so young, both of them only months older than Santini him self and he knew that he was far from ready to turn up his toes and shuffle off. He wasn't a young man, but he was far from being a relic either. Santini had learned that age was a state of mind, and he had always had a youthful outlook. He was sure that was what kept him going. That, and having his young friends, Hawke and Caitlin around.

The old place just didn't seem the same without them today, although Jimmy had done his best to try to keep his mind off the more distressing thoughts about Muriel.

As he slid carefully out of the cockpit and secured the door behind him, Dominic Santini was surprised to see Jimmy Flynn on the other side of the hangar, talking to a woman.

She was tall and slender and clad in light weight pale blue pants and a baby blue short sleeved blouse. She wore a lavender sweater tied by the sleeves around her waist and the wind was tugging at her short fluffy blonde hair.

She had her back to Santini as the youth pointed her in his direction, and Santini found him self wondering what she wanted and slightly irritated because it would delay his departure for the hospital, until she turned around to face him and waved.

Dominic Santini recognized her face immediately and felt his heart skip a beat in his chest, a huge smile immediately splitting his face as he started to walk across the tarmac toward Megan Ravenson, meeting her half way.

"Hey Teach, howya doin'?" Santini greeted her warmly, reaching out with open arms to welcome her into his embrace. "Long time no see."

"Hello Dom," Meg responded to his welcome by giving him a hard squeeze, but then she withdrew from his embrace, and the fact that she did not respond with her usual witty repartee about him being an old crock gave Dominic Santini cause to pause and regard her with a more critical eye.

She was still an attractive woman. Way out of his league, but then there had never been anything remotely romantic between them. She was just an old friend.

A good friend, with a special gift that he admired a great deal.

Looking at her now, he could see that there was something troubling her. She looked tired, a little washed out and nervy, eyes darting around the hangar as though she were really looking for someone else, before coming back to settle on his face.

Her smile was still as stunning as ever, Santini found him self thinking when she looked back at him, and once more found himself thinking just how good it was to see her again.

Dominic Santini had always had something of a soft spot for Megan Ravenson. There was just something about her that had instantly made a lasting impression on him. She was smart and sassy and had a razor sharp wit, and a quiet, unassuming manner about her, but there was a vulnerability there too, a lack of confidence in her self and her gift that had touched Dominic Santini.

Several years before, they had both worked a particularly nasty case with the police. Santini had been bought in because of the difficult terrain involved in the search for a missing child, and Megan Ravenson, because she had the rare gift of insight and had proved helpful to the police in the past.

Dominic Santini had never had a strong opinion about the so called psychic or sixth sense, either way. He did not dismiss it completely out of hand. He had lived too long and as a pilot for so many years had seen too many things that could not simply be explained away by science or common sense. However, he wasn't an absolute believer either.

He was prepared to be open minded until something swayed him one way or the other.

Throughout the search for the child, a girl of two who had somehow been taken from a neighbors house, left there while her famous actress mother had taken her new born son to her doctor for a routine check up, Dominic Santini had played his part, glorified chauffeur really, ferrying the police top brass around, chasing up every clue, which seemed to center the hunt for the missing child around the rugged terrain close to her home in Topanga State Park and Malibu, and he had continued to keep an open mind when Megan had been bought in to the equation, watching the obvious anxiety and distress the visions that came to her suddenly, and sometimes violently, and which consumed her, had had on her emotional state.

It was distressing for everyone, but the things that Megan had seen and felt often reduced her to tears when she had thought that she was alone and not being observed, and Dominic had found his heart going out to her, realizing that no-one else seemed to care how the business was affecting Megan, emotionally or physically.

She had been so eager to help, to make a difference, and had been under a great deal of pressure from all sides to come up with the goods, the terrible weight of expectation from the equally angry and distressed parents, the scorn, derision and unreasonable demands of the police officers overseeing the case, and of course, the pressure she put herself under to perform to the best of her ability and help the police get a break in the case.

Dominic had decided to take the young woman under his wing, bringing her coffee and encouraging her to unburden herself on his considerable shoulders and they had become quite close.

Megan had been grateful, relieved to find someone who did not want something from her and did not seem to be judging her, instead, he was willing to listen and to try to understand and encouraged her to try to explain how she did what she did and how it worked, and sometimes, why it didn't.

When Megan had eventually come up with something that blew the case wide open, there had been renewed hope, a frenzy of activity, and Dominic Santini had watched the people who had been openly hostile and scornful toward Megan, poking fun and making sarcastic and unsavory jokes, suddenly change their tune.

However, the joy had been short lived for the child had been discovered dead, buried in a shallow grave in a remote part of the search area, exactly where Megan had said she would be, and it became clear that the child had died within hours of being taken from the neighbor's house.

A later post mortem had revealed that whoever had taken the child had drugged her with sleeping pills, and had probably accidently given her too much, and that when they discovered the child was dead they had simply buried her and got the hell out of Dodge.

Megan had given the police a description of the man and woman she had seen in her visions, but when nothing came of the information and no-one was ever caught for the crime of kidnap and murder, everyone involved in the case had turned their scorn and hostility back on Megan Ravenson, everyone except Dominic Santini that was.

Disgusted with the way everyone had turned on Meg, Dominic had felt compelled to stand up for her, and to reassure her that she had done everything that she could, and that they would probably never have found the child and learned the truth of what had happened to her if it hadn't been for her, and from that moment on, Megan Ravenson had realized that she had a true friend and ally in the big, jovial, ebullient Italian, Dominic Santini, and they had remained close ever since.

It had been Dominic who had persuaded his young friend, Stringfellow Hawke, to seek Megan's assistance several months back when their mutual friend, the government agent code named Archangel, had gone missing and his own people had been on the verge of terminating him because they feared that under intensive torture, he might have revealed top secret information to the other side.

Stringfellow Hawke had made the whole ordeal a darn sight harder on all of them than it had needed to be, with his open hostility, cynicism and scorn. Dominic had not known what to make of String's reaction to Megan and he hadn't been very proud of his behavior during the couple of days they had had Megan helping them.

Meg had proved to be just as tough and determined as Hawke, and she had stood her ground, letting the younger man know in no uncertain terms that she wasn't going to put up with his sneering and his abrasive and negative attitude, making him aware that he was hindering her ability to get a clear sense of what had happened to Michael Coldsmith Briggs III and where he had been taken, and that his open hostility aside from not being very attractive, was actually clouding the very psychic emanations and energy that she needed to draw on to give him the help that he had come to her for.

Santini had silently shown his young friend his disapproval at the uncharacteristic way he was acting, and had secretly applauded Megan for taking the bull by the horns and letting his young friend know that his behavior was not acceptable. He suspected that Hawke hadn't appreciated that very much, but after her outburst, something she had said to him had obviously had some affect and he had kept his more negative thoughts about her authenticity to himself.

Dominic's unshakeable faith in Megan's ability was rewarded when she had come good. Archangel had been found, just in the nick of time, safe and sound, and Megan had left Hawke with a parting shot that would give him food for thought.

Since then, Hawke had mentioned Megan Ravenson only once, letting slip that he had seen her for a drink and to apologize again for his behavior, and that they had reached a truce of sorts.

Santini had been impressed, and he recalled now, that at the time he had found himself thinking that Megan Ravenson must really have gotten through to his young friend, but despite his innate curiosity to know what Megan had told him, Santini had wisely kept his mouth shut, hoping that sooner or later Hawke would spill the beans.

He was still waiting.

Oh well, that was just how it was some times with his young friend, and Dominic Santini had had to learn to accept that there were just some things that Hawke preferred to keep to himself.

As he regarded her now, Santini could not help feeling that Megan was more than a little preoccupied, her gaze again drifting back toward the hangar as that dazzling smile faded from her lips, and for some inexplicable reason, Dominic felt his heart grow cold and heavy in his chest.

_**Uh oh …..**_

"You lose some thing? Or some one?" he smiled gently, reaching out to cup Megan's elbow and guided her back toward the hangar, hiding his disappointment as he started to get the impression that it wasn't really him that she was here to see after all.

However just at that moment another aircraft further down the strip started up its engine, drowning out any reply that Megan might have made, and so they continued to walk toward the hangar in silence.

"Ok, Teach, spill the beans," Santini invited once he had guided her through the hangar and out into the relative peace and quiet of the back office. The telephone was ringing off the hook as they entered, but Santini deliberately ignored it.

"Aren't you going to answer that?" Meg asked as she seated herself on the other side of the desk. "It could be important," she pointed out softly.

"What I see written all over your face is more important, Meg, so spill. I get the feeling you ain't really here to see old Dom, so tell me why you suddenly had to make the trip over here."

"I'm sorry, Dom. It's good to see you," Megan smiled softly now, realizing that she must be telegraphing her fears to Santini with her guarded behavior, and suddenly found herself wondering if he didn't have something of a gift himself.

Perhaps not a psychic gift, but an even more precious talent. The ability to read people.

"Good to see you too, Meg, you know it always is, now, spit it out will ya!"

"I was hoping to see String. Is he around?" she asked, rather too casually for Dominic Santini's liking and suddenly alarm bells were going off in the back of his head.

"He's away."

"Away? Where?"

"Washington."

"DC?"

"Nah, Washington State, visiting some old Army buddy of his way out in the wilderness."

"Oh," he noted the disappointment in her tone now.

"I can take a message," he offered. "Unless of course it's private? Personal?"

"Aren't you going to offer me a cup of coffee?"

"Coffee can wait!" Santini erupted then winced as he saw Megan flinch slightly.

"Hey, easy Tiger! Please, Dom, calm down. Why don't you make us both a drink and then I will say what I came here to say," Meg placated.

"Why don't you just say it?"

"Because I'd rather not have to go over it twice," Megan sighed. "She should be here in about half an hour. Plenty of time to get the coffee ready."

"She?" Santini arched an eyebrow quizzically.

"The girl who works here. The redhead," Meg fished for a name to put to the face she remembered from her last nocturnal trip to Santini Air, knowing that she should remember it and silently cursing her poor memory, while Santini silently regarded her with cold rheumy brown eyes now.

"Cait?" he finally supplied for her.

"Cait," Megan echoed.

"She's in Texas. Visiting with her folks, and she thinks that I'm on vacation in Europe for crying out loud!"

"Not any more, Dom," Megan's gaze drifted to the telephone, now sitting silently on the desk between them, and Santini's eyes widened just a little. "I figure by the time you and that young man out there get this place battened down for the night, and get the coffee good and hot, Cait will be here. Takes about half an hour to get a cab and drive from LAX to here, right? Maybe a little more this time of day, allowing for traffic, right?"

"Right," Santini spoke in a vague tone of voice, his expression hard and demanding, his rheumy eyes never leaving Megan Ravenson's face.

"Meg?" his voice trailed away, but there was a definite question in his eyes now which Megan could not fail to respond to.

"Look Dom, I came here thinking that I needed to see String, but now that I see he isn't here, I think perhaps what I have to say is more _**about**_ him, than _**for**_ him," Meg explained realizing that Dominic was already beginning to fear the worst.

"And what makes you think Cait is coming here? She only left …."

"She loves him, Dom," Meg cut Santini off, her tone strong and certain. "And she's stubborn and head strong and to her this is the most logical place to start. This is like home to her, Dom, and to Hawke too, this is always going to be one of the first places she will come looking for him."

Dominic Santini found himself nodding in agreement, recalling that after the spot of trouble they had had in Pope County, Texas, when Hawke and Caitlin O'Shannessy had first met, it had been here that she had come looking for him to tell him that she had bought back the body of his friend.

All that she had known about him was that he was a pilot with a most unusual name, and for a smart gal like Cait, that had made him easy to track down.

"And she feels it too."

"What? Feels _**what**_ Meg?"

"That something isn't right, Dom."

"Something? What!" he roared then threw Megan an apologetic look, knowing that snarling at her wasn't going to get him anywhere.

"I don't know, Dom, but I promise I will tell you what I do know when Cait gets here. Be patient, please Dom."

"Is he …."

Again Santini's voice trailed away, unable to make himself voice the question.

"Is he dead?" Meg queried, not needing to be psychic to know what was going on in his head and voicing the question for him.

Santini nodded gently.

"No, Dom. I don't think so," she told him with all the sincerity she could muster now, knowing just how deeply he cared for the younger man and what news that he could be dead would do to Dominic Santini.

It was the truth.

Not once had she got the sense that Stringfellow Hawke was gone from this world, nothing that she had seen in her dream or her earlier vision had given her the impression that he was reaching out to her from the other side of life.

Not once had she had got that most distinct and unmistakable, yet indescribable feeling that she associated with death.

No.

She was sure in her heart that Hawke was still alive, for now at least.

"I swear to you Dominic, and you know that I would never lie to you because I know just how much you love Hawke, I don't have any sense that he is dead," she smiled reassuringly at Santini, wanting him to trust her and believe that she was not misleading him. "If he were gone, Dom, I would tell you."

"Yeah, Teach, I know you would," Santini let out a deep, ragged sigh and leaned heavily against the back of the chair on the other side of the desk for a moment, his expression revealing to Megan Ravenson that he did indeed believe her.

"And now that I know that he ain't dead, I can wait until Caitlin gets here to hear the rest."

"Good, I take mine black, no sugar," Meg allowed herself to relax back in her seat now and watched Dominic Santini's dear features scrunch up in a frown. "Coffee?" she reminded gently.

"Oh, yeah. Ok. Be back in a minute."

"Dom …."

There was genuine concern in her voice now. She suspected that his mind was presenting him with all kinds of horrific scenarios, all the dreadful things that could have befallen his young friend, and wished that she could give him some reassurance that all was well.

However they both knew that if that were the case, she would not be here right now.

"I'm ok, Meg," Santini assured, blessing her with a weak smile of gratitude for her concern now. "I'll just go make sure Jimmy has everything under control."

0-0-0-0

"Right on time!" Dominic Santini greeted a breathless Caitlin O'Shannessy as she rushed into the Santini Air hangar and dropping her bag on the oil stained floor rushed toward him, throwing her arms around his neck and giving him a firm hug.

"Oh Dom, I'm so glad to see you!"

Santini had heard the yellow taxi cab pull up on the tarmac outside just as he had poured out the third cup of fresh coffee and glancing quickly down at his wrist watch, again found him self marveling that Megan Ravenson could be so accurate in her prediction.

Santini welcomed Caitlin into his arms, sensing her genuine anxiety and distress and was deeply touched by the warmth of her greeting and the crack of emotion in her voice.

"What? Huh?" Caitlin frowned as she finally pulled away from Santini and regarded him with questioning blue/grey eyes.

"Hi Cait, drink your coffee," Santini smiled warmly, holding out a mug of steaming aromatic black coffee to the new arrival as she stepped away from him and stared back at him in open mouthed astonishment. "I made it specially."

"What? You make it sound like you knew I was coming, and by the way, if you ever answered the darn phone you would have known," Cait grumbled, her voice trailing away as she noted the amused and enigmatic look on Santini's familiar face.

"I did know," Santini told her matter of factly, placing his mug of coffee onto a metal tray beside the mug he had poured out for Megan Ravenson.

"What are you doing here? I thought …. Aren't you going to ask me what I'm doing here?" Caitlin finally took the mug from him, wincing as the heat burned her fingers and she swapped it to the other hand so she could hold it by the handle, then realized what Santini had actually said.

"You did know? How? Never mind. Dom, I'm really worried. I think something bad has happened to String."

"You too, huh?"

"You mean you …."

"No, honey. Not me. Megan Ravenson is in the office."

"Meg? Oh. What did she say?"

"Nothing yet, honey. Bring your coffee through to the office, I'll answer your questions and we can hear what Meg has to say together."

"Dom."

"Yeah, Cait?"

"I'm glad you're ok. I was worried about you too. I thought maybe you and Hawke got one of those calls and something real bad had happened."

"Well, as you can see, I'm all in one piece, but thanks anyway kid."

0-0-0-0

In the back office of Santini Air, Dominic Santini handed Megan Ravenson her mug of coffee and made himself comfortable in the chair on the other side of the desk, while Caitlin O'Shannessy silently followed him and carrying her mug of untouched coffee positioned herself behind and slightly to the right of Santini, her eyes questioning Megan Ravenson, as the two women sized each other up and nodded to each other in silent acknowledgement.

As they had made their way through the hangar to the office, Dominic Santini had explained to Caitlin about Muriel Manning's stroke and that his friend Morris Robertson had broken his ankle, and that faced with the choice of staying home and brooding, or going to the hangar and burying himself in things familiar and comforting, and things that would occupy his mind, he had chosen good old fashioned work and the place where he could feel just that bit closer to his nearest and dearest whilst he pondered on the injustices of life and the fickleness of Fate.

Caitlin had listened patiently, holding the door open for him to pass through with the loaded tray, making all the right sympathetic noises in all the right places as she followed him through the open doorway, and had then opened her mouth to try to explain to him what had made her come rushing back, in response to his questioning look, only to find for one of the few times in her life, words eluded her.

Instead, she had squinted away the tears that were suddenly pricking at the corners of her eyes, swallowed down the lump that was suddenly blocking her throat and offered Dominic Santini a sad little half smile as she raised one shoulder in a half hearted shrug.

Dominic Santini had simply nodded in understanding, and he did understand, for he could clearly see the fear and anxiety in her eyes and knew that even though she could not explain it, something had scared her so badly she had had to come back and check it out for herself.

In his youth, more than once he silently conceded, Dominic Santini too had acted on inexplicable impulses, his internal radar or barometer, 'gut feelings' String called them and sometimes experienced for himself too, and more than once, acting on that instinct had saved his life.

Who was he to say that Caitlin couldn't have gut instincts too?

Women's intuition, he had heard it called now and again.

Well, Megan Ravenson he knew had something a little more precise and reliable than her gut or even intuition, and something had brought her to his door at almost exactly the same time.

_**They couldn't both be wrong,**_ he told himself now, watching the two women weighing each other up silently, trying to work out what the other might mean to his young friend Hawke, as he settled him self in his seat and waited.

"Something happened to String," Caitlin finally broke the silence at last, a statement not a question, Santini noted, and waited for Meg to respond.

"Why are you asking me something that you already know, Caitlin?" Megan countered, although in truth she knew that it had not been a question.

Caitlin flicked her gaze sideways to regard Santini, but he remained unresponsive and so she returned her gaze to Megan Ravenson and watched as the blonde leaned forward slightly in her chair to place her mug of barely touched coffee on the desk roughly half way between herself and Dominic Santini.

"I don't claim to be psychic," Caitlin spoke again, her eyes cold and her tone condescending.

"I'm not saying that you are, Caitlin," Megan cut in, her tone neutral, her expression understanding. "You can't explain it, and you don't understand it, but you are intuitive enough to know that something wasn't right. You trusted in your instinct. You believed it, and it scared you so deeply you felt compelled to act on it."

"Yeah," Caitlin conceded now on a sigh of resignation.

"You didn't question it. You just knew that you had to follow it through."

"Yeah."

"Well, that is all that I am doing too, Caitlin," Megan explained patiently.

"You saw something?" This came from Dominic Santini now, adjusting his position in his seat, indicating to both Megan and Caitlin his barely controlled impatience to get to the point and for them to stop pussy footing around each other. "You had a vision?"

"Something like that, but it was the dream that I had last night that indicated to me that I really needed to speak to String."

Santini nodded, recalling that she had told him that she had come looking for String because she needed to speak with him, but once she had learned that he was away on vacation her perception of whatever it was that she had seen must have suddenly changed.

Dominic Santini interpreted that to mean that the message that she had wasn't for Hawke, but about him.

"At first I didn't even know that what I was sensing had anything to do with String, Dom," Megan began to explain, focusing her attention on Dominic Santini's open face, sensing irritation from the red headed woman standing beside him and knowing that if she allowed her too, Caitlin's negativity would only make her angry.

It was an odd reaction from a woman who had had some inexplicable 'feeling' that something was not right, that the man that she loved might be hurt or dying, and which had caused her to race back to Los Angeles.

She should have been a little more tolerant and understanding, having experienced it for herself, and fleetingly, Megan wondered if Caitlin regarded her as a rival for Hawke's affections, and that was why she was so irritated and dismissive.

Caitlin obviously liked the idea of being the one to come to Hawke's rescue and resented the fact that Megan had sensed that he might be in danger too.

Caitlin did not know how she should be feeling right now, because Megan suspected that Caitlin thought that she was closer to Hawke than her liking.

_**Good old fashioned jealousy!**_

_**Now that was a refreshing change!**_

"It was just a general sense of unease," Meg continued now, trying to hide her amusement at the thought that Caitlin was harboring fears that Hawke might have some kind of romantic feelings for her.

"A sense that something was coming, vague allusions to a bird of prey, which I eventually took to mean could have something to do with Hawke, and then last night I had a very vivid dream about two young men fighting in a foreign jungle. Vietnam, I think," she paused to draw in a refreshing breath and saw Santini nod softly and took this to mean that she was right and that she should go on.

"String was flying a chopper, a rescue mission I feel, retrieving men from a tight spot deep in the jungle. One of those men was his brother, Sinjin. I thought the message I had for Hawke had something to do with his continuing search for his brother," Meg continued, then felt compelled to explain her self when she saw the frown tugging at Santini's brow.

"The last time I saw him, some months ago, I told String that he shouldn't give up hope. He believes that Sinjin is alive, and I told him that I think he is right, and not to give up on looking for him."

"You thought maybe he was planning to go off on some crusade to look for Sinjin?"

"I don't know what I thought, only that I had to see him. Sometimes, when I see the person the message is meant for, things become a little clearer," Megan explained, noting Caitlin O'Shannessy shuffling impatiently on the other side of the room, obviously uncomfortable with the topic of conversation.

"I was hoping that when I saw Hawke, the second part of the dream would become a little less confusing for me," Megan sighed softly now, trying to organize her thoughts.

"Why didn't you come sooner?" Caitlin demanded. "If you were so worried?"

"I wasn't worried exactly. Disturbed. Confused," Megan sighed softly and regarded Caitlin with understanding eyes. "I have a life too you know. I have my work, my home. If for one minute I had sensed that the vision was significant, that it meant something awful had happened to Hawke, then of course I would have come here at lunch time, but there was no such indication and I felt I had a better chance of catching him here toward the end of the day, when he was back from whatever flying jobs you might have been doing."

"You said something about a second part to the dream," Santini prompted now, drawing Megan's attention back from Caitlin's angry face.

"I saw a jeep travelling along a mountain road. There was a loud bang and suddenly the vehicle became uncontrollable, the driver fighting with the wheel, and before you ask, no, I couldn't see who the driver was, Dominic. All I saw was the jeep fail to negotiate a sharp bend and fly off the side of the mountain …." Meg's voice trailed away as she realized the absurdity of what she was about to say.

"And?" Santini prompted.

"And I saw the jeep change into the same bird of prey I saw in an earlier vision."

"And you think the bird is Hawke?" Caitlin demanded haughtily.

"It seemed a reasonable assumption. A hawk is a bird of prey after all, but I didn't think it meant him literally, Caitlin. I associated seeing the bird with having a message to pass on to Hawke, but then Dom told me when I got here that String is away on vacation, and suddenly the only thing that made sense to me was that for once, what I was seeing was meant to be taken literally. Hawke is the bird in the vision, and I think he's in trouble."

"What kind of trouble?" Santini demanded now, leaning in across the desk to fix Megan with wide, anxious rheumy brown eyes.

"Easy Dom, I already told you, but for Caitlin's benefit and for the record, I don't believe that Hawke is dead," Megan replied to Santini's question in a soft voice meant to be calm and reassuring and sincere, and out of the corner of her eye noted immediately the expression of relief that settled on Caitlin's face.

"You know that I can't be specific, Dom. You of all people should know that that is not how this thing works, but if I am meant to take the vision literally, I think perhaps he was in a car wreck, or had some kind of accident."

Caitlin and Santini exchanged worried glances.

"Perhaps I'm interpreting what I saw _**too**_ literally," Meg said with an edge of uncertainty to her voice now.

"And perhaps you're not," Dominic Santini responded gruffly.

"I'm not used to it being quite so …." Meg's voice trailed away as she tried to find the right word, and came up short, however Santini understood what she was trying to say.

"I know, but you have to go with your instinct and your experience, Meg. So what happens now?" Santini directed himself to Megan, but it was Caitlin who responded.

"We hit the radio and the telephone."

"And who should we call, Cait?" Santini tried to keep the sarcasm out of his voice.

"Whoever Hawke is staying with," she countered, throwing him a hurt look. "You do know where he was heading?" she glowered at him now. "Didn't you even get a number, in case of emergencies?"

"Who was he gonna call? I was supposed to be in Europe and you were in Texas for crying out loud! He knew there wouldn't be anyone here to take his call," Santini pointed out gruffly.

"So?" Caitlin prompted once more.

"All I know is he was going to Washington State. Somewhere in the Cascade Mountains," Santini sighed and rolled his eyes heavenward in exasperation at the incredulous way Caitlin was regarding him now.

"Ah C'mon Cait, you know Hawke as well as I do. He keeps things pretty close to his chest, and only tells you what he wants you to know. Be grateful he even told me that much," Santini protested weakly. "All I know is he got a letter from an old Army buddy inviting him to come stay."

"Which old Army buddy?"

"Charlie Roth."

"Dom!" Caitlin exclaimed, moving forward swiftly to sweep up the telephone receiver from its cradle. "Why didn't you say that before! How many Charlie Roth's can there be in Washington State!" she snapped, her fingers hovering over the dial.

"Who are you calling?"

"Directory assistance."

"Don't bother," Santini sighed heavily.

"Dom, I don't care if I have to call every Charlie Roth in the phonebook! Don't worry, I'll pay for the calls!"

"I'm not worried, Cait! I'm not that big a skinflint!" Santini roared. "But you'd just be wasting time. He ain't in the book, Cait. I doubt Charlie Roth even has a telephone! He's even more of a recluse than Hawke."

Caitlin O'Shannessy's beautiful animated features morphed firstly from excitement to disbelief and then to an expression of bewilderment and finally exasperation as she replaced the telephone receiver back on its cradle none too gently.

"Don't look at me like that Cait, it ain't my fault. I ain't his keeper! He's a grown man and can take care of himself, so what he don't tell, I don't ask! What exactly did you think was the attraction up there?"

Santini arched an eyebrow now and watched as Caitlin caught her bottom lip between her teeth and chewed on it, briefly, her mind focusing on why Hawke would have chosen that particular destination to take his vacation.

"It's just like home."

"Exactly. It's just like home. Remote, isolated and as far away from civilization as he can safely get," Santini concurred.

"And not the kind of place for someone to be having any kind of accident," Megan added, recalling again the images from her dream, the wide grey ribbon of empty road surrounded by tall majestic trees, then clamped her lips firmly shut, realizing that it hadn't been the most tactful thing to say.

"Yeah. Right," Caitlin scowled at Megan as though she did not need or appreciate the reminder.

"I'm sorry …."

"I doubt this guy Roth even has a postal address. He probably gets his mail at a PO Box or has it directed to a local store," Santini pondered out loud now.

"Did Hawke say anything at all about where he was going?" Caitlin asked now, fishing for a clue in even the most mundane thing that Hawke might have told his old friend about his destination, the look on her face clearly conveying to Santini that she thought that it was utter madness that he could just let Hawke disappear off into the sunset without knowing a darn thing about where he was heading.

"Only that it's like a little piece of heaven up there, clean mountain air and crystal clear waters of the lakes."

"That's it?"

"That's it."

"So how did he plan to get there?" Megan asked, watching the interaction between Santini and Caitlin.

It was a perfectly reasonable question, and Megan knew that she had said the right thing when she watched Dominic Santini's soft brown eyes grow wide in his face and his eyebrows rise up into his thinning hairline.

"That's it!" Santini erupted out of his seat, strong arms reaching out to support his weight as he leaned across the desk, a wide grin splitting his familiar features and revealing the small gap between his top front teeth.

"Meg I could kiss ya!" he chuckled at the startled look on the blonde woman's face.

"Something I said?"

"Sure was! Boy I am an idiot!"

"You won't get an argument from me," Caitlin put in, but she too was smiling, realizing the direction her boss's thoughts were heading. "He was going to fly, wasn't he Dom?"

"Yeah. He asked if he could borrow the Hughes 500 we finished overhauling last week. I noticed immediately that it was gone."

"Then Hawke will have filed a flight plan!" Caitlin grinned excitedly now. "I'll run on over to the Air Traffic Control tower and see if they will give me his destination. If we find where he left the Hughes, we can maybe pick up Hawke's trail from there."

"It's a start."

After Caitlin had rushed out of the office, Dominic Santini sat back down in his seat and regarded Megan Ravenson. She was still sitting in the same position, a thoughtful expression on her face.

"What else, Meg?" Santini probed, concerned that there was maybe more that she wasn't telling them, that she was holding something back to spare Caitlin's feelings.

"Nothing," she smiled back at him now, wanting to reassure him that she had not withheld any information, but he continued to regard her questioningly. "I was just thinking."

"What?"

"I was trying to figure out how I could be more helpful to you."

"And?"

"I was wondering if you would be prepared to take me up to Hawke's cabin? I might be able to get a stronger sense of him there. I might be able to get a clearer link to him, close to the things he loves, every day things that reflect his personality, stuff like that."

"That's a fine idea, Meg. Of course I'll take you up there."

"You don't think Hawke would mind?"

"Under the circumstances, no. I think he would be just fine about it. I'm sure Tet would be glad to see a friendly face too."

"Thanks, Dom."

"No, thank you."

"Dom, you know I hope I'm wrong about this, don't you?"

"Yeah, I know, but somehow, I don't think you are. You've been doing this all your life, Meg, you know when it feels right. You should have more faith in your gift, honey."

"Maybe, but it isn't perfect. I don't always get it right. You know that."

"You've been right more often than you've been wrong, at least when I've seen you work, Meg, even when being right didn't always bring the best news," he told her sincerely, letting her know that whatever the outcome, he would not blame her, reminding her that he wasn't inclined to shoot the messenger.

"I've seen the good things you do, Meg, I know how it affects you and what it takes out of you, physically and emotionally. I know that you wouldn't be here if you didn't believe that it was important, and that's good enough for me. I trust you, and I know you'll be honest with me, no matter what."


	11. Chapter 11

**_Chapter Ten._**

_**Somewhere in Washington State.**_

_**Early evening.**_

"Darn it, Kenny!" Bridget Goodwin cursed under her breath, juggling with the heavy box in her hand, just managing to save herself from a heavy fall, and tripping over the pile of toy cars that had been abandoned in the kitchen doorway and let out a sigh of resignation.

"Where is that child anyway?" she asked of no-one in particular as she knew that she was alone in the house. "Probably up to his neck in a pile of mud or plotting some mischief or another," she lamented. "And not too far away because I can hear that wretched dog baying. Boomer, sure was the perfect name for him, his voice is so loud they can hear him in Seattle!"

Stepping carefully over the pile of toy cars Bridget made her way deeper into the kitchen and plonked the box down on the big pine table with a gasp and then surveyed the room around her and the numerous other open cartons and packing cases and boxes on the floor and the sofa that she was fighting a losing battle to fill.

Her heart sank as she surveyed the disarray around her, knowing that she had set herself an impossible task.

There were more upstairs too, in almost every available space, filled with linen and drapes, and knick knacks that had accumulated over the years.

_**What had she been thinking? T**__**hat she could really get the whole house cleaned out over one weekend?**_

It wasn't so much ambitious as totally crazy, especially with Kenny pulling stuff out of boxes almost as fast as she filled them.

Her heart went out to the child, it really did, but his delaying tactics were beginning to get on her nerves.

He had declared war, and in the battle of wills, so far he was marginally ahead of her.

Bridget knew he didn't want to leave this place, and she could understand why too.

To him it represented freedom.

It wasn't the most modern or sophisticated of places to live. The plumbing had a mind of its own and the house was impossible to heat in the winter, but for Kenny it was a little piece of heaven and it was the only home he had known for ten years.

Bridget knew that it had always been a happy home.

No wonder he didn't want to leave when the whole mountain was his personal adventure playground. He was a child of nature, and everything that he could possibly want was right here.

Boy and dog both, were in for a rude awakening when they moved to town, Bridget thought sadly to her self.

There would be no more sneaking off on their own into the forest for one thing, spending hours doing Lord knew what and coming home when they felt like it, covered in mud.

Kenny would just have to accept that he would not have nearly so much freedom as he was used to.

There was nothing else to be done.

They would both just have to suck it up and get on with it.

Bridget let out a deeper sigh now, wistful and a little sad.

Both of their lives were about to change, big time, but that was just the way it was.

They would adjust.

They would have to, although she silently conceded, she suspected that it was going to be harder for the child than for herself.

A new home and a new school, far away from the familiar things and people that had populated his life for the last ten years and a new set of rules to follow that would curb his natural inclination to wander off, leaving her worrying herself gray over what he might be getting himself into.

They would just have to try to be a bit more tolerant, and kinder to each other until things settled down.

She had hoped that by working together to pack things away they would begin to understand each other a little better, maybe work on their relationship.

They weren't strangers, but they weren't exactly close either.

Bridget had tried, but Kenny had categorically refused to allow her to even try to mother him, except in the most basic of ways, and she had had to accept that.

Instead of gathering together the last of his clothes and toys so that she could pack them away, her deadline for getting the things he would need to take with him so that he would be ready for his first day in school on Monday looming large over both of them, Kenny had slunk off again, taking his co-conspirator, the boisterous, baying blood hound, Boomer, with him.

It was a show of defiance that was fast becoming a habit, and one that she knew she had to break.

_**You might have won **__**this battle, Kenny, but you won't win the war!**_

_**Who am I kidding! **_She wailed silently.

_**What the hell do I know about kids? **_

_**I'm forty four years old, single and childless, because that is**__** the way that I wanted it. That is what I chose for myself. If I had wanted kids, I would have done something about it by now, don't ya think!**_

_**Dammit, George, I can't do this!**_

Bridget felt tears gathering in her eyes at the very thought of her younger brother, and dashed them away impatiently.

She would not cry.

For the sake of the boy, and because it used up too much energy, and she was going to need all that she had to complete the task that she had set herself.

_**Pull yourself together girl! You don't have any other choice. You have to do this, so get a grip and get on with it!**_ She told herself sternly now. _**You don't have time to stand around here feeling sorry for yourself!**_

Despite herself, Bridget felt the hot tears continuing to trickle down her cheeks and she reached out behind her for the solid hard backed pine kitchen chair and sank down wearily into it, burying her face in her hands and allowing the tears to flow silently.

She was still in shock, so was her nephew, the boy barely able to string more than a couple of words together since she had got here.

Kenny had flung himself at her in terror, burying his little white, tear streaked face into her skirts as she watched the fire fighters damping down what was left of the stable and the barn and carrying out the black zippered heavy plastic body bag that contained the remains of her younger brother, George Goodwin, and the charred, rigid carcasses of the last three horses he had owned, then she had forced Kenny away, bringing him in to the house knowing that it was far too late to be trying to shield him from the horror and carnage of the burned down buildings, but needing to protect him nevertheless.

That first night, just over a week before, he hadn't wanted to be separated from her, so they had climbed into his small wooden bed up in the attic space and snuggled up together, neither getting much sleep, but gleaning some small comfort from having the other close.

Kenny had stayed mute and emotionless until his father's funeral the day before yesterday, and then the dam had burst and the tears had flowed, quickly followed by anger that his father had left him and resentment that in so doing it meant that the life he had known and loved for the last ten years was over for him too.

Bridget had tried to make the boy understand that she could not simply up sticks from her life and her job in Honesty, the small community in the valley at the foot of the next mountain, a dot on the map that outrageously called its self a township but which consisted mainly of a few families fighting to survive in their shacks and cabins, a two room school house, a church, a cluster of stores, a rooming house and a bank, its saving grace, the magnificent views all around and trails that were easy to follow and which attracted tourists and back packers by the busload because unlike other small towns, Honesty was on a main highway and was a natural place to break the journey to the next mountain range.

Bridget had tried to make Kenny understand that there was no other choice than for him to come and live with her and go to the small school in town.

She had already made the arrangements to enroll him and had spoken to his teacher, explaining the situation and had tried to reason with him, trying to make him understand that it was better to accept his new life and to try to get used to it right away. Putting it off would only make it harder.

Her brother's dream of raising horses so that tourists could ride them through the forest trails in the summer months had long since failed and he had barely survived on giving riding lessons to the children in the area at the weekends and carving a few trinkets for the tourists to pick up at the arts and crafts shop in Weaver, which was run by that soft hearted old lummox Zee McVey, to generate a second income along side the general store.

George did good work, which the tourists when they did find their way through Weaver, seemed to like, and so although it wasn't a regular income as such, the odd sale generated a few dollars now and again and that kept Zee happy and interested in getting more of his work and helped George to keep the wolf from the door.

Bridget had neither time, the money nor the inclination to pick up where her brother had left off and she knew that she would be lucky to get even half the going rate for the old family homestead where she and George had grown up and he had continued to live with his wife Sarah and their son, Kenny.

Homestead. Actually, calling it that was more of a kindness than a true description of her childhood home.

It was really just an old fashioned log cabin which her great great grand parents had built with their bare hands and which following generations had added to and improved upon to make life just that little bit more comfortable.

As well as the cabin, located on a generous plot of land, an area of flat meadow before the mountain terrain encroached and the land once again fell steeply away, part of which had been used as pasture for the animals, and the rest as a small kitchen garden and to grow the few hardy crops that flourished in the fertile mountain soil, and which fed the family and their livestock, there was a collection of wooden outbuildings ranging from a small shed to the barn and the stables.

Her great great grand parents had survived by tilling the land and growing what they could and raising a few animals, but it had all been for their own table, and to make money to pay the bills, all the Goodwin men had had to find steady work, with the lumber company in Honesty, doing odd jobs in Weaver or going even further afield.

It had never been an easy life, but in this modern world it was getting harder and harder to survive out here, beautiful or not, and no matter how spectacular the views or how majestic the mountains, if you were old or sick or in need of emergency medical attention, it was deadly.

Sarah Goodwin, her dear sister in law had sadly fallen foul of their magnificent isolation.

She had died seven years ago giving birth to a girl child, who had also died a few hours later, and George had withdrawn into himself, letting the place go to rack and ruin, and allowing his son the freedom to come and go as he pleased, schooling him as best he could himself at home, happy to allow the child to wander, educating himself about the flora and fauna and the cycle of life out there on the mountain but never permitting him to stray too far out into the world beyond for fear of losing him too.

Kenny was intelligent and naturally curious, and George had indulged him. As far as he was concerned they were content with their lot even if it seemed to Bridget like they were just muddling through.

It had torn at Bridget's heart to see the way her brother and his son lived, but she had also known that it was futile to try to tell George how to live his life, and so she had visited whenever she could, bringing groceries and news from the world outside, cleaning the place up and making sure they both had clean clothes, replacing those that were too worn to be mended or which Kenny had outgrown, and that they were well fed.

She had listened to her brother's wild ideas about how to make the stable profitable, knowing deep down inside that it was only a pipe dream, and then she had returned to Honesty and her own life there.

_**This just isn't good enough!**_

She told herself now, dragging in a deep calming breath, roughly wiping the tears from her cheeks and pushing her chestnut colored hair back from her face. She kept it long and neatly secured in a ponytail, but a few wisps had worked their way loose and were tickling her cheek.

_**You did what you could. **__**And he was right. They were happy. In their own little way.**_

_**Life is what you make of it, kid. Just because you had different ideas and followed different paths doesn't mean that either one of you was wrong.**_

There was no denying that life out here agreed with Kenny. He was a healthy child, although a little on the skinny side, growing taller and stronger every time she saw him, confident and proud of his domain.

_**King of the mountain.**_

A ghost of a smile touched her lips now, and tucking the hair back behind her ears, she glanced at the contents of the box on the table before her.

It contained her brother's work clothes, neatly folded. Piles of faded checkered shirts and patched denim jeans or coveralls, which she had taken from his dresser, and much to her surprise, lovingly preserved at the back of the ancient rickety wardrobe, she had found his wedding suit, just as he had worn it on the day he and Sarah had made their vows.

_**Who would have thought that old George was such a sentimentalist?**_

They had been so happy, and so in love, living an idyllic life, but after Sarah had gone, George had been more like a ghost, haunting the old place, and Kenny had had to entertain himself as best he could while his father idled the time away dreaming of better days, ahead, and in the past.

Always with George it had been, things will be better tomorrow.

_**Just you wait and see, Sis, things will be better tomorrow.**_

Bridget knew that he would be so disappointed in her. Disappointed because she wasn't even prepared to stay and give the place a chance, but the stable and the horse back riding business had been his dream, not hers and she had neither the funds nor the enthusiasm to try to make it work.

_**C'mon girl, the days' a wastin!**__** And there isn't anyone else around to do the work!**_

Staring at the chaos around her now, Bridget somehow felt that it was only right that it shouldn't be so easy to fit a person's whole life into a few crates and boxes and cardboard cartons.

It should be hard, back breaking work that took a long time.

_**And if you don't get your act together and get Kenny in here to pull his weight, it is going to take you at least a month before you're finished!**_

And that was time that she could ill afford to neglect her own small business back there in Honesty.

She had planned to be back home by Sunday night and ready for the start of the new working week, and she was determined to stick to that plan, with Kenny's help or without it.

Bridget had always been a dab hand in the kitchen, learning from her mother from an early age, and she had used those skills to open a catering business, a double fronted store that had a coffee shop on one side and a baked goods store with it's own bakery kitchen out back, that catered to both locals and tourists alike on the other.

She rose early and slaved away in the kitchen producing breads and rolls and pies and pastries, sweet and savory, to fill the shelves and display cabinets of the store, and to serve in the coffee shop, and she had recently branched out into a new line of specialized confectionary, making sweets and chocolates and fancy cakes for special occasions like weddings and birthdays.

Everything was freshly made every day and she had quickly gained a reputation for producing fine quality goods at reasonable prices, and because Honesty wasn't so far off the beaten track and the tourists found their way there more regularly than they did Weaver, trade was good all year round now.

Good thing too, because it meant that she could afford to take on some additional part time help, or she would have had to shut down the whole operation while she cleared out the house and got Kenny settled in his new home.

Again she wondered where he had taken himself off too.

She wasn't worried that he had strayed too far, and she was reasonably confident that he could take care of himself.

Her greatest fear was that he had hidden himself away from her to conceal the true nature of his grief and anger, not wanting her to see what he considered to be a weakness.

She found herself hoping that he had realized that his future was going to be very different to the one he had seen for himself, but that there was no point in fighting it.

She prayed that he had found acceptance and that he was storing up memories of happier times, and saying goodbye.

A frown tugged at her brow now as she realized that the deep baying howl of her nephew's blood hound appeared to be getting closer, as though thinking of Kenny had suddenly conjured him up out of thin air.

This thought raised another ghost of a smile.

_**That's right, kid, keep your sense of humor because something tells me you are sure gonna need it!**_

_**Home is the hunter**__** from the hills ….**_

_**Good, he can tidy up that mess in the doorway and start helping out around here!**_

A quick glance at the clock on the opposite wall informed her that it was almost six thirty and she suspected that it was more likely to be hunger which had driven the youngster to strike out of for home than his conscience.

_**And I haven't given a thought to what to make for dinner!**_ Bridget suddenly realized. _**Damn. You're going to have to do better than this, kid, or he'll run rings around you!**_

_**What do you mean will? He is already!**_

She also realized that she was hungry too.

It was a long time since lunch, which had been a cheese sandwich and an apple for both of them, and which, to her amusement, Kenny had eyed as if it were poison.

She didn't have the time or the ingredients to make anything elaborate. Kenny would be ravenous when he came in and no doubt would be sullen and impatient to be fed, so she needed to make a decision quickly.

She had made fresh bread that morning, mostly out of habit and because it gave the house a pleasant aroma and the only chore that Kenny had successfully completed to her satisfaction this morning had been to collect a handful of freshly laid eggs from the dilapidated old henhouse.

_**Right, problem solved!**_

She would boil a couple of eggs for each of them and make some toast, and then they could complete their meal with a piece of fruit. There were a couple of slightly over ripe bananas in the bowl on the kitchen counter which would finish things off nicely.

_**A meal fit for a king! **_

Well, maybe not, but more than nutritiously adequate for a growing boy.

Pushing back the chair from the table, she rose to her full height, carefully stretching the muscles of her lower back and shoulders which were beginning to ache a little now and moving the box of old clothes off the pine kitchen table, made her way deeper into the kitchen to begin preparing the meal.

The cabin had originally been designed as a single story building, and the living area and kitchen had been combined to make a large warm and welcoming space for people to gather together.

There was a huge stone fireplace and chimney breast in the living area and a wood burning stove in the kitchen which ensured that the ground floor at least was always warm.

George had kept a lot of the furniture that she remembered from her childhood, worn and frayed and not very attractive nowadays, but familiar and welcoming to him.

Later on, another generation had gotten ambitious and removed the original roof so that they could add another floor, with adequate sleeping space for their growing family.

Subsequent generations had improved on the design, replacing a rickety old ladder with a much sturdier and less steeply inclined staircase and now there were three reasonable size bedrooms and a bathroom on that level and above it, attic space for storage.

Coming to a stand still at the kitchen sink, her hand automatically rising to reach out to open the window a crack, Bridget's eyes were inevitably drawn to the back yard, and she was again shocked by the sight of what remained of the stable and barn. Only a few upright timbers of the frame from the stable remained, and the whole of the one side of the barn that was still standing was blackened by both smoke and flame.

She had deliberately kept all the windows closed for the last few days because the wind had been coming from the direction of the barn and stable and the smell had been so overpowering, and too powerful a reminder of the real reason why she was here.

If she couldn't see it, or smell it, it was easier to put out of her mind while she busied herself with all the work that needed to be done.

She quickly withdrew her hand from the handle of the window, deciding that she could put up with a little steam and condensation on the window panes just this once, preferring the infinitely more pleasant aroma of toasting bread to charred wood and smoke and death.

A shudder ran down her spine, and Bridget began to wonder if that was why Kenny had taken his leave, needing to get away from the dreadful reminder of all that he had lost, preferring to disappear into the forest, finding comfort in seeking out more pleasant sights and sweeter odors.

Keeping him self busy so that he did not have to deal with his suddenly much less secure and concrete future.

If that was the case, then she really couldn't blame him.

_**Maybe I should have just taken him straight back to Honesty and left this place in peace?**_

Somehow it had felt wrong to simply wrench the child away so quickly. Better to give him time to come to terms with what had happened, less chance that way that he would sneak off and find his way back here just to satisfy himself that it hadn't all been a horrible nightmare.

No, she had made the right choice. Clear out as much as she could and make the move permanent. A clean break. Far less heartache for both of them that way than having to keep coming back to find this or that.

She was tempted to just walk away and leave the old place to rot. She had no desire to live here, and she wasn't likely to find a buyer for the old place, even when the debris from the stable and barn was removed and the necessary repairs to the cabin had been made, but she suspected that some day, Kenny would want to come back here and build the place up for himself, and it was his birthright after all.

So, she would clean house, clear out all the trash, get the land cleared of the charred timber and then close the place up securely until such a time that Kenny was old enough to decide for himself if he wanted to live out here again.

As she worked, busying herself with filling a saucepan with water at the sink and carefully dropping the eggs in to it, then pulling the fresh loaf out of the bread bin ready to slice, Bridget realized that the blood hound's call was getting closer, and seemed to be rather more excited and insistent than usual.

He was an exuberant animal at the best of times, over excitable and full of beans, and big with it, powerful haunches and shoulders and strong, long legs. She hoped he wouldn't come flying in here while she was trying to make dinner, causing mayhem.

Kenny knew better than to let Boomer in around meal times, but Boomer often had other ideas and the dog was much stronger than the boy when he set his mind to it.

Boomer no doubt thought that it was his duty to let every one within a country mile know that the man of the house was on his way home.

_**Hail the conquering hero! **_

This thought raised a slightly wider smile to her lips now.

In a way, Bridget was glad that boy and dog were making the most of their last couple of days of freedom, storing up memories that would have to last them both for the rest of their lives.

She was half way through slicing up the fresh bread when Kenny came tumbling in through the door, breathless, face flushed from the exertion of running around in the late evening sunshine, right knee of his coveralls torn and his face smeared with grime.

His caramel colored hair was tousled by the wind and his big blue eyes were sparkling with excitement as he stood in the open doorway panting heavily and trying to keep Boomer from leaping up around him, and suddenly Bridget could not stop herself from thinking that he looked uncannily like one of those cute, wholesome kids in a Norman Rockwell painting. The only thing spoiling the illusion was the tear in his pants and the modern sneakers on his feet.

"Midge!" Kenny finally managed to get his breath long enough to excitedly call out her name. "Midge!"

The smile slid from Bridget's face and she turned warning dark sapphire blue eyes on Kenny.

Her nickname had always been a cause of great frustration to her, and there was no way that she was going to allow Kenny to get into the habit of using it.

_**Bridget**__** the midget.**_

Even now her heart sank and her hackles rose whenever she recalled the way her classmates in school had hurled the insult at her.

Ok, so she wasn't the tallest person in the world at five feet nothing in her bare feet, and coming from a younger brother who had found it hard to pronounce her proper name when he was a babe, and whom had then had the audacity to grow well over six feet tall was one thing, a well meant term of endearment from her family, she could handle, but hearing it bandied around the school yard as a taunt and a way to make her feel bad about herself was something entirely different.

Over the years, it had been shortened to the less humiliating Midge, which she could just about live with, when it was used fondly by family and friends, and she and Kenny had long come to an understanding that if he insisted on calling her Midge, he should at least add the word Aunt to it.

"Aunt Midge," the child corrected himself now, staring up at her through a long and untidy fringe of honey colored hair.

He was so excited about something he could barely keep still and he was having trouble keeping the equally excited hound under control too.

"I'm in the middle of making dinner, Kenny. You'd better see to Boomer and then wash up."

"No, no, Aunt Midge, you gotta come with me! Come quick!"

"I told you, I'm making dinner."

"You gotta come!" Kenny actually stamped his foot in frustration now. "You gotta. I found something important!" And after imparting this piece of information he span around and disappeared back out into the yard, the dog following close behind, yapping at his heels.

"C'mon Aunt Midge, you gotta see!" his thin, high pitched voice wafted in through the open door, demanding and persistent.

Obviously he wasn't going to take no for an answer.

Suddenly a wave of fear washed over her.

"Darn it, Kenny!"

She couldn't ignore him, especially if he had found something that could ultimately prove dangerous.

"Kenny!"

_**Easy, gal, it's probably just another of his waifs and strays!**_

Reaching out to remove the eggs from the heat, Bridget strode angrily across the kitchen, praying that at the very least the young man had found a long forgotten gold mine, because if it turned out that he had dragged her away from making dinner to see to some bird with a broken wing or some orphan squirrel or rabbit or skunk, she would brain him!


	12. Chapter 12

**_Chapter Eleven._**

_**Stringfellow Hawke's Cabin,**_

_**Eagle Lake, California,**_

_**Dusk.**_

Dominic Santini raised the brim of his red silk baseball cap and scratched absently at a point just slightly north of his right eyebrow, and then drew in a long, deep breath.

He was feeling more and more anxious, frustrated and impatient for answers, but he knew that there was no point in pressing the slender blonde woman who was now standing beside the mantle, leaning lightly against the fireplace, one hand laid flat on the cold, solid stones of the chimney breast, a perplexed expression on her face.

It was the exact same expression that Megan Ravenson had worn since five minutes after their arrival at Stringfellow Hawke's cabin, a little more than an hour before, and he could not help thinking that it did not bode well, and that coming up here wasn't proving to be as helpful to Meg as she had hoped.

When they had arrived, Santini had followed Meg around the familiar rooms of the cabin, instantly feeling the present occupant's absence most keenly as he fended off Tet, as he too followed them around, curious and watchful, but the dog had soon lost interest and had retired to his place, stretched out across the hearth, content to let his master's good friend supervise the stranger.

At first, Meg had just looked around, silently admiring the artwork and the décor and the homely atmosphere of the place, occasionally closing her eyes and breathing in and out, deeply and calmly, focusing her thoughts, and then she had told Dominic that she would like to spend a little more time in each room, and had asked if he thought Hawke would mind if she touched things.

She had patiently explained that holding something that Hawke might have touched recently would help her to get a better sense of him, and so Dominic had told her to go ahead, asking only that she take care with the precious artwork and the delicate Stradivarius cello.

Santini had stayed to watch, not really worried that she might damage anything, but curious to see how she worked, however, it turned out that she wasn't really interested in the paintings, or the cello, preferring instead to concentrate on every day items, much to Santini's initial amusement, things like String's razor and toothbrush in the bathroom and various articles of clothing in the bedroom and then the larger pieces of furniture that the young man used to keep his clothes out of sight, all as neat and tidy as he had left it.

After several minutes of watching Meg with eager anticipation, curious to know what she was seeing or feeling, Dominic Santini had finally grown weary, fearing that he might be getting in her way with his understandable anxiety and fear for Hawke, and so, knowing that she would speak up if and when she was good and ready, Dominic had followed Tet's example and returned to the living area, making himself comfortable on a stool at the bar, although he did not help himself to a drink, his gaze inevitably drawn to the photographs given pride of place on the walls close by, especially the ones with both Hawke brothers and himself, and his thoughts turned back to the happier days when each picture had been taken.

Now, as he watched Megan move away from the fireplace and drift across the room toward the kitchen, light footed and her mind deeply focused as she trailed the tips of her fingers across the highly polished surface of the dining table on the way, Dominic Santini could not help feeling that this was getting them nowhere fast.

After spending a few minutes in the kitchen, lightly running her hands over the sink and counters and stove, Megan finally paused, blinked rapidly a few times as though re-orientating herself to her surroundings and then she let out a deep sigh of frustration and turned on her heel, returning to the living room and Dominic Santini's appealing and speculative expression.

"Honey?" Santini prompted now, noting the disappointment clearly written all over Megan's face and feeling his heart sink. "Anything?"

"Nothing of much real use," Meg sighed, turning apologetic eyes on Santini now.

He had been so helpful and so patient with her, and she found it so heartbreaking that she could not offer him something a little more positive.

"Nothing? You don't see anything at all?" Santini asked in incredulity.

"Oh, I see plenty, Dom, just not anything very helpful, or recent," Which was something that even Megan herself found incredible.

From the moment that she had first crossed the threshold she had been bombarded by strong psychic emanations, but that was hardly surprising to her. The place had obviously been a well loved and happy family home for close to one hundred years, and had therefore been privy to a lot of that family's history, absorbing a lot of psychic energy and emotional turmoil deep into its very fabric.

There was also one overwhelmingly strong and easily recognized presence, that of Stringfellow Hawke himself, the force of his personality and his very life essence assailing her senses.

Again, that was no surprise.

Immediately she had sensed the peace and contentment that he felt whenever he was here, close to the things that he loved and cherished. The quiet that settled over his mind and his heart whenever he was here, home, close to the people that he had loved, and lost.

People that he still loved, as much as if they were still around, and of course, here, in this place, they were, but only someone with a modicum of psychic ability would know that for sure.

However, what Megan was finding most perplexing was the fact that she could not seem to get any sense of Hawke in the present.

She felt his grief and anger at the death of his parents, the love and devotion that he felt for his dear brother, Sinjin and the utter despair and the sense of futility he had experienced upon returning here after St John Hawke had been lost.

Megan also sensed the thrill and excitement and joy, and a measure of surprise too, that Stringfellow Hawke had experienced when the exotic, dark haired beauty, Gabrielle had found a way to penetrate his heart, and the gut wrenching grief that he had felt, along with the rage and the guilt, when he had been unable to save her.

_**No wonder the man was so keen to protect him self.**_

_**And how blessed the woman he finally allowed himself to accept into his life and into his heart, for the power of his love was almost a tangible thing,**_ Meg found herself thinking, and suddenly could not help wondering if Caitlin O'Shannessy was really ready for that kind of love in her life.

Megan did not doubt it, for she sensed that the fiery red head was more than capable of matching Hawke in that department, and that when they both stopped tip toeing around the issue and accepted their fate, the shock wave of emotion and relief would be felt all the way to the eastern seaboard!

Poor Dominic, he loved them both and it was killing him to keep his nose out of things and his thoughts to himself, but even he knew what the two young people he shared his days with really felt for each other and prayed that one day they too would see for them selves.

However, if he thought life was exciting and crazy and fraught right now, how would he cope with the emotional roller coaster ride, if they ever did get together?

It would certainly make life interesting.

Megan pulled back her errant, wandering thoughts and tried to focus once more still confounded that she was not able to sense how Hawke was feeling right now.

There was no sense of him in the here and now, in the moment, although she remained convinced that Stringfellow Hawke was indeed still alive.

She couldn't sense him here, where she would have expected too, and when she had reached out, seeking out some sense of him further afield, he didn't seem to be anywhere, and that was what had thrown Megan.

Megan knew that she should have been able to get some sense of him, especially here where he spent so much of his time and where he felt safe and most at peace.

She had never experienced anything quite like this sensation before, and although she was at a loss to explain the strange void, she took comfort from the fact that there was still no sense of urgency, no underlying threat or sense of doom or impending disaster.

She had faith in Hawke's ability to survive. He was an intelligent and ingenious man and had, some might say, been blessed with more than his fair share of luck over the years.

_**Nine lives. Like a cat.**_ Megan thought ruefully then reminded herself that she had always believed that you made your own luck in this life.

Obviously Stringfellow Hawke was better at it than others.

He was also too stubborn to die.

He felt that he had a mission, a purpose, and he would not easily relinquish his hold on this life until he had completed that mission and fulfilled that purpose.

He was single minded and stubborn, and in her experience, men like that were hard to kill simply because they believed that they were immortal.

"I'm sorry, Dom," Megan threw her hands up in despair as she let out a long, ragged breath, and then ran one hand carelessly through her hair. She was getting a headache, never a good sign, she knew, for it meant that she had over stretched herself, tried too hard, straining for answers that simply were not there, and the end result was not unlike the mental equivalent of a pulled muscle.

She ran her hand lightly over her face, closing her eyes and centering her thoughts on more pleasant things, and when she dropped her hand and her vision cleared she immediately noticed the crestfallen expression on Dominic Santini's face.

"Hey, Dom, don't look like that. I still don't think he's dead," she assured him quickly. "But I never experienced such a sensation of …."

She paused briefly, struggling to find the right word to describe the sensation and then raised her shoulders in a weary shrug.

"Detachment."

"Detachment?" Santini frowned.

"Yeah. We know he's not physically here, but I can get a sense of some kind of residual energy, an impression of him and how he was feeling and what he was doing before he left. For instance, he was cheerful and focused on what he was doing, had planned everything down to the last detail, and was looking forward to seeing his friend. I get that, quite strongly. There was no sense of foreboding, nothing to indicate that he thought there might be trouble coming. He was happy, Dom, lighter hearted than I've ever known him to be, but that doesn't say a lot, because I don't know him that well."

"And?"

"And then there's nothing. I know he's out there, but I can't get a clear sense of him or where he is or how he is feeling right this minute. I can't explain it and I don't understand it, Dom. I'm sorry."

"I know you did your best, Meg, and I want to thank you for at least trying."

"Hey, I'm not giving up, Dom," Megan reassured him quickly, moving across the room on quick long strides to come and stand beside him at the bar, reaching out to take his big, meaty paw in her own smaller, delicate hand.

"Just because I don't understand it right now, it doesn't mean that I can't figure it out," she told him pointedly. "There have been many times in my life when I really didn't understand what I was seeing or hearing or feeling, and you know that there are still times when I get it wrong, but that is because I am only human, and people make mistakes all the time," she paused to take a quick breath before continuing.

"I have learned to accept the limitations of my gift and my own limitations in interpreting what I see and feel and hear, and to forgive myself for my human failings, but the most important thing I ever learned is that patience is it's own reward Dominic," she squeezed his hand gently and gazed deeply into his watery brown eyes, her steady, reassuring gray eyes focused on him and him alone.

"We have to give it time Dom. It isn't over. I feel sure that there will be more visions, more dreams, and perhaps I will be able to get some more information, something stronger that we can work on. I'm not giving up, Dominic, and neither should you. Hawke is out there, somewhere, and I have faith that he will find a way to help us find him. There has to be a reason why I can't get a clear sense of him right now, it will probably be something very simple and we will wonder why it took me so long to figure it out when I finally do, but believe me, I will. I promise."

"Ok," Santini allowed a soft half smile to curl at the corner of his lips now and squeezed Megan's hand gently in return.

"In the meantime, we still have the information Cait got from the air traffic control people."

"Yeah, we can dig out the aerial maps of Washington state, and see what we get."

"Yeah, let's do that," Megan agreed wholeheartedly although she could not stop herself from thinking that he had just as much chance of getting something concrete to work on from studying the maps as she did, but wisely kept those thoughts to herself as she followed Dominic Santini across the living area.

She silently bid farewell to the dozing hound lying on the hearthrug as she followed Dominic out onto the porch and waited while he turned out the lights and took one last look back inside through the glass pane in the door, and then she gratefully took his strong, sure arm as they made their way along the narrow path, the evening chilly, a gentle breeze tugging at their hair and clothes, the last weak rays of the slowly setting sun the only illumination in the fading light, their destination the waiting Bell Jet Ranger Santini Air helicopter parked on the jetty on the shore of Eagle Lake.


	13. Chapter 13

**_Chapter Twelve._**

_**Somewhere in Washington State,**_

_**Dusk**_.

Kenny was waiting for her at the boundary between forest and kitchen garden, bouncing excitedly on the balls of his feet as he beckoned her to follow him.

Bridget hoped that they would not have to go too far into the woods, because it would be dark soon, and even though she had grown up out here and had no fear of the creatures that made the mountain their home during daylight hours, she knew better than to be wandering around the forest after dark.

"Kenny, will you slow down!" she hollered in a warning voice after the boy, as he darted off down a well trodden path, the dog bounding after him, staying close, throwing his head back now and again to let out a deep, throaty howl of excitement, then scurrying off a little ways ahead, head down, scenting the ground.

Obviously the pair had found something of great interest, and Bridget found herself praying that if it turned out to be some cute and cuddly baby bear, his big ol' mean Momma or Daddy weren't lurking in the shadows waiting to pounce.

_**Actually, trying to reason with a Grizzly might prove easier than getting Kenny to accept that no matter how distasteful or hard to swallow, life for him from now on was going to be very different.**_Bridget found herself thinking forlornly as she trudged through the tangled undergrowth and tried to keep up with her nephew.

As she forged ahead, feeling her heart trip in her breast at the sudden and eerie sensation of cooler air and deepening shadows closing in around her, Bridget Goodwin was grateful for the sturdy hiking boots on her feet and the tough fabric of her denim blue jeans and the over sized white cotton shirt she had slipped over a pale blue vest T shirt for they were giving her some protection from the overhanging branches and the snarled up roots and choking weeds on the rough path.

The child continued to hurry ahead of her, as agile and light footed as a goat, pausing now and again, hands planted on his small hips impatiently as he allowed her forty something legs to catch up and bellowed encouragement at her.

"C'mon, Aunt Midge. It's this way!"

After a few minutes, puffing breathlessly and feeling moisture beading on her brow, Bridget suddenly realized that she knew where this path was leading.

She had walked it many times in her youth and childhood, holding tightly onto her Daddy's hand, or dragging George behind her as they set off on some adventure in the heart of the forest.

She had been bolder then.

Fearless.

_**And about a million years younger**_, she reminded herself ruefully.

It had been a while since she had been out this way, but she knew that not far ahead they would come across the stream.

_**Hell, maybe he did find gold after all! **_

_**Or at least something that looks like it. **_

_**Fool**__**'s gold. **_

She recalled now that when she had been very young, a tantalizing golden flicker in the bottom of the stream had sent her tearing excitedly back to the cabin to find her father to tell him that she had found gold in the stream.

An indulgent and loving father, Jacob Goodwin had obligingly allowed himself to be pulled through the forest to the spot where his daughter had found her speck of gold and had patiently explained, with mild amusement, that it wasn't really gold at all, but something called Iron Pyrite, or fool's gold, and that she shouldn't feel bad because many men a lot older and wiser than she was had also been fooled into believing that they had found their fortune when they had succumbed to gold fever.

_**Ah, Kenny, all the gold in the world won't save you from having to leave this place. **_

_**I'm sorry**__**, buddy.**_

"Here, Aunt Midge, over here!"

Kenny darted off the well worn path and into the undergrowth, disappearing down into a hollow only to bob back up again a few minutes later, looking back to make sure that she was following him, squinting in the gloaming and waving at her excitedly.

"Over here! It's not far now."

Dreading what she would find, striking out after him, careful not to turn her foot or ankle on the twisted roots, brittle dead branches and vicious stingers that littered the way ahead, Bridget picked her way through the undergrowth, dappled light pooling on the ground and silver and gold beams streaming in through the canopy of twisted branches and foliage overhead giving everything a ghostly appearance.

At last she was able to hear the gentle murmur of the stream as it meandered on to the bottom of the mountain, the soft babble of water splashing over the rocks and pebbles that lined the bed of the stream.

Eventually the way became clearer, the weeds and shrubs and tree roots that clogged the path giving way to softer, darker earth strewn with rocks and stones, and then, at last, there was the stream, a ribbon of pure crystal clear and no doubt very cold water tumbling slowly down the side of the mountain.

It had started life way way up yonder as melt run off from the snow and ice fields and found its way through hollows and gullies, disappearing underground now and again only to rise again, spilling over tiny precipices, making picturesque waterfalls, beginning as a deluge of fast flowing white water at the top, slowing a little as it found its way down, tumbling over cliffs and winding its way down the tree lined mountainside, branching off here and there to feed a couple of small lakes on the way down, slowing as it went, to end it's life as a brook that wound its way around Honesty and ended in a trickle over a sheer vertical drop two miles short of Weaver.

Before that, Bridget knew, it disappeared back underground for a while, feeding the spring that supplied the cabin with fresh water and which had been one of the main reasons why her great great grand parents had found this place so attractive and had decided to settle here all those years ago. A source of constant clean water was imperative, indoor plumbing or no.

This stretch of the stream wasn't deep, thank goodness. Bridget knew that it was safe for Kenny to play here, she and George had often done so as children, but her main concern now was the thing that Kenny was standing beside, on the other side of the stream, an anxious look on his face.

As she got closer, her heart beating an irregular tattoo in her breast, squinting through the gloom and berating herself for not having gotten her eyes tested last month as she had planned to do, Bridget began to make out a clearer shape, and suddenly realized that it was a man, lying face down, bottom half in the stream, top half out.

He was lucky, because if it had been the other way around, shallow or not, he could still have drowned in the stream.

_**Where the devil did he come from?**_

Her heart hammering away in her chest, fear suddenly gripping her at the thought that perhaps this was some kind of trick, that maybe the man was only feigning unconsciousness in the hope that the child would bring adult help and that any minute now he would miraculously rise to his feet, produce a weapon and demand that Bridget take him back to the cabin so he could steal whatever he could carry away with him and sell on later.

_**Don't be ridiculous and don't let you**__**r imagination run away with you! Think it through rationally before you give yourself a nervous breakdown!**_

Bridget admonished herself, however she still could not suppress the urge to wave Kenny away from the man, just in case his hand should suddenly snake out and grab the child's ankle. However, Kenny blatantly ignored her frantic gesturing, a frown puckering his brow as he peered back at her, oblivious to the possibility of any kind of threat from the man lying at his feet.

She glanced around the immediate area now and noted the broken branches of the over hanging trees further up the incline on the opposite bank, the scuff marks in the dirt and the flattened shrubs and weeds that marked the man's path to the water's edge.

Relief flooded through her.

Perhaps it was just what it seemed and he really was unconscious, but, that didn't mean that she should let down her guard just yet.

The man had obviously come down the mountain, probably backward by the way the bushes were flattened about half way down, where he had no doubt flung out his arms to try to save himself, and had somehow gotten turned around as he skidded and rolled to a halt.

He was damn lucky.

As she closed the gap between herself and her nephew, reaching the bank on the other side of the stream, opposite to where Kenny was standing over the stranger, the ribbon of water between them, Bridget could see that the man still wasn't moving. He didn't appear to be making any sound either, but it was hard to tell from this far away, over the sound of running water and the heavy thudding of her heart in her ears.

_**Gosh, when did I get to be so unfit!**_

Splashing through the ankle deep water, breathless, her chest heaving and aching with the unusual exertion, Bridget hastily made her way toward Kenny and the man, Boomer staying close beside the boy, still and poised and unusually calm, keeping watchful guard over his master and letting out the odd plaintive whine or whimper.

Reaching dry land once more, Bridget gently placed her hands on Kenny's shoulders, giving him a quick, reassuring squeeze then moved him out of her way so that she could squat down beside the prone form of the man, clad in an aged brown leather jacket, pale blue shirt and light colored pants that were stained with mud and tree sap and grass.

There was blood on his shirt too, not much of it, just a smear here and there on what she could see of the cuffs where they had been pulled back, obviously from the nicks and scratches she could also see marring his otherwise perfectly tanned and hair smattered wrists and forearms.

He was laying face down, arms splayed out on either side of his head and his face turned away from her. Bridget leaned over him to get a better look at his face and could immediately see a trickle of blood running between his nose and top lip, drying now, and another wound, still oozing blood over his left eyebrow.

She could not help noticing that he was an attractive man. His handsome, chiseled features relaxed now in repose and he had an even golden tan, as though he spent a lot of time out doors. His clothes were casual, good quality but not overly expensive and his feet were encased in newish looking tan leather hiking boots, the toes of which were now badly scuffed.

His short, neat, sun lightened brown hair was darker and slightly matted together behind one ear, indicating that he had a wound there, and as she leaned in closer she could now see a spatter of blood on the bit of his shirt collar that was exposed from beneath his leather jacket and putting it all together, she took it to be more evidence of his rapid and probably uncontrolled decent down the mountain side.

As she ran her eyes over his still body carefully, Bridget noted the fact that he was of medium height and slight build, although he was not puny in any way. Athletic was a better way to describe him, like a runner perhaps, bicep muscles and thigh muscles slightly more developed than the rest of him, straining healthily beneath the fabric of his clothes indicated that he was a fit man and that he took care of himself.

"Is he dead, Aunt Midge? I poked him with a stick but he didn't move," Kenny explained looking a little less excited now and a whole lot more worried that he might be in trouble, eyebrows knitted together as he frowned at her from beneath his fringe.

Bridget returned her gaze to the man's chest. It was hard to tell in the gloom, but it looked as though it was moving, ever so slightly, so maybe he wasn't dead after all, just unconscious. Or maybe it was a trick of the light.

The only way to tell for sure was to turn him over and check to see if he was breathing.

"I don't know yet, Kenny. Maybe you could help me turn him over?" Bridget prompted softly, noting the wary way the child was looking at the man on the ground and suspected that he now considered the whole business to be less of an adventure than five minutes before.

**_Maybe he's picking up on my fear and suspicion?_** Bridget pondered silently, taking in the wary expression on the youngster's face now.

_**Or, m**__**aybe he was remembering standing watching his father die in the burning stable, knowing that there was nothing that he could do to save him?**_

The thought suddenly flashed, unbidden, through Bridget's mind, and her heart went out to the boy.

"C'mon Kenny, I need you," Bridget prompted once more, smiling gently at him now as she got down onto her knees. "You go stand on the other side of him and when I tell you, put your hands on his chest and push. Not too hard though, Ok? He might have broken ribs."

Instead of obeying her, Kenny took a wary step backward an anxious look on his angelic little face.

"It's ok, Kenny. All you're gonna do is help to roll him toward my knees and then we can try to ease him over on to his back. I don't think I can do it on my own," she gave him a look that was meant to convey to him that she was just a weak and feeble woman and he was a big, strong, tough guy, appealing to his male ego, and then she gave him a soft, reassuring smile.

"Ok?"

The boy nodded mutely, but obediently moved to stand facing her on the other side of the man's body, and placing one of his small, delicate little hands in the dip of his waist, just above the belt securing his pants, and the other where his ribcage angled outward, he waited for Bridget to move in as close to the man as she could, her knees lightly touching the man's other side, her hands running lightly up and down his arms and legs, and ribcage, checking to make sure that he didn't have any obvious protruding broken bones, or some weapon concealed about his person, and then satisfied at last, she gave him the go ahead.

Between them, boy pushing and woman pulling they managed to maneuver the man over carefully so that his back was balanced half and half on Bridget's knees, and then carefully she inched her way back away from him as she took most of his weight in her arms, one arm under his neck to protect his head, the other around his upper body, cradling him against her as she guided him gently over, then leaning in and taking his full weight onto her chest and upper body.

Pausing briefly to get her breath, Bridget offered Kenny a reassuring smile, then, slowly inching her way away from him, allowed the man's body weight to pull him the rest of the way toward the ground as she cradled his head, and then finally he was on his back, still silent and unmoving, eyes closed and features relaxed as his head lolled lifelessly to one side and then finally became still.

_**Now would be a good time to wake up sleeping beauty.**_Bridget found herself thinking with mild amusement, but he showed no signs of regaining consciousness.

She let out a soft sigh of disappointment but decided to take it as a positive sign that she hadn't actually caused him more damage by moving him, because if she had, he would probably be wide awake, moaning and writhing around in agony, giving her grief and asking her what the hell had happened to him.

Still, if he were conscious and able to move, even just a little under his own steam, getting him back to the safety of the cabin would be a lot easier.

_**So, what about it buddy? That's your cue to peel back those lids and show me the color of your eyes.**_

Nothing happened.

The man's eyes remained closed and he showed no signs of awareness, however, despite her disappointment, Bridget couldn't help noticing that he was also kind of cute.

_**What? What? So I'm human. Looking won't get me into trouble! And he really is a looker! **_

_**And a lot younger than you too, so quit drooling and get moving.**_

_**Ok, so**__** what do you say, sweet cheeks? Up and at 'em!**_

Still nothing, and this time Bridget let out a deeper sigh of resignation.

_**Shy huh? Oh well, it was just a thought. In your own good time, I guess.**_

_**In the mean time, I guess we do this the hard way.**_

Breathless, perspiration beading her brow, her arms shaking from the unusual exertion, Bridget gently reached in to the gap between the open collar of his shirt and his skin, caressing the warm, golden tanned column of the man's neck with the slightly trembling fingertips of her other hand as she checked for the pulse in his carotid artery.

It was there, good and strong, and she could clearly see now that his breathing was regular and easy.

Smiling jubilantly at Kenny, a big grin spreading across her lips, Bridget gave the boy a thumb's up of encouragement and beckoned him to her for a hug.

"He's alive. Probably got a nasty bang on the head, but he's alive, Kenny," she told him, dabbing the perspiration from her brow with the back of her hand as he came toward her.

"So he's just asleep?"

"Kind of. I think the bang on the head knocked him out," she explained patiently watching him carefully taking in her every world.

"So he will wake up?"

"Yeah, I think so," she reassured, smiling softly at him. "Well done," she reached out now and folded him into her arms, giving him a brief but fierce hug and dropping a soft kiss into the ruffled hair on the top of his head, until embarrassment made him push back and wriggle out of her embrace at last, the look on his face as he pulled away from her saying all too clearly that he was too big for such displays of affection, especially in front of a strange man who might wake up at any second and think that he was a baby.

"Where did he come from?" Curiosity finally got the better of him, overcoming his wariness now.

"Up there, I think. See the way everything is all smashed and mangled?" the boy turned his gaze away from her, surveyed the ground behind him on the bank of the stream and deeper into the shadows as the land grew steeper and became congested with vegetation and interlaced tree branches until there were only deep, dark shadows and then turned back to her and nodded.

"That's a long drop," he said matter of factly, and Bridget realized that it was a statement, not a question, and that he knew this for a fact, probably because like his father before him, he had explored that region at some time in the past.

"Sure is," Bridget agreed, recalling the times George had tried to scramble up there to see what lay beyond, only managing to get about half way before he came bouncing back down on his butt, scratched and winded and grinning like a fool as adrenalin coursed through his body.

Eventually, as he got older and stronger, George had been able to make it to the top of the steep incline and had reported back to her that it came to a dead end at the bottom of a sheer granite cliff face that rose at least twenty feet to a ledge that was almost in line with the top most branches of the closest trees. The cliff was too smooth and too steep to try to climb up, and if you were already at the top and fell there was nothing to break your fall but the tree branches.

If this fella had fallen from all the way up there, then he was damned lucky to be alive at all.

"What are we gonna do?" Kenny asked now, apparently growing bored now that he was not required to do anything.

"Well, we can't leave him here. It will be dark soon," Bridget reminded. "I don't think he's just gonna wake up any time soon, Kenny, so we are gonna have to carry him home. C'm 'ere kid, show me your muscles" she invited with a grin, coaxing the boy closer once more, realizing that if they were going to get through this reasonably quickly, and keep his attention for longer than five minutes, she was going to have to make it a game to him.

She showed him how to flex his muscle, making a tight fist so that his bicep muscle at the top of his arm plumped up.

Gently, Bridget ran her hand over the small bump he produced at the top of his arm after copying her actions and nodded her approval.

"They'll do," she winked at him. "Ok, now you take his ankles, and I'll take his shoulders and we take it slow and easy. Ok?"

"Ok," although he still didn't sound very sure of himself.

"We can do this, Kenny. We have to. There's no other choice. It'll be ok," she assured once more, already aware that she was going to be the one taking most of the man's weight through supporting his upper body.

"Kenny, if we leave him here, he will die," she reminded softly, knowing that the last thing that the child would be able to bear would be the knowledge that another man had died because he had stood by and done nothing, although in truth, there had been nothing that Kenny could have done to save his father.

George was dead long before the fire had taken hold. He had broken his neck falling from the stable roof, mending a damned shingle, and in falling had knocked an oil lamp into a stall full of tinder dry straw and hay.

George should have known better of course.

He had been around livestock and their dry food and bedding long enough to know that he should not have had a naked flame anywhere near the barn, but he had been in a hurry, anxious to fix the shingle before the promised storm had come in, and too stubborn and impatient to find a flashlight.

He had paid a bitter price for his recklessness.

The fire had spread quickly through the dry old timbers of the stable and then spread to the adjacent barn, fanned by the increasing velocity of the wind coming in ahead of the storm, so that by the time the child had realized that something was wrong, terrified by the desperate screams of the animals in the stable, the heat and smoke and flames had been too much for him to risk going inside to help his father.

_**And thank God he had had the sense not to even try it, no matter how desperately he had wanted to try to save his father.**_

It had been hard enough to lose her brother that way, she admitted silently to herself, how much more difficult to bear would it have been if she had also lost this precious child?

Frankly, it didn't bear thinking about.

He was the only family that she had left, the only human being that she had a chance of getting really close to.

If he had died, what would have become of her?

After all was said and done, she loved him dearly and would not be without him.

So what if life for them both was going to be just that little bit tougher for a while, they would get through it and perhaps be better people for having made that journey.

They were family.

Bridget was suddenly glad to have something else to focus her attention on as she swallowed the lump of emotion that was blocking the back of her throat now.

"We'd better get a move on. Sun's going down."

Bridget waited while Kenny moved to the man's feet, apparently fascinated by how big they seemed to be in comparison to the rest of him, and admiring the new and sturdy walking boots he was wearing, then she realized that it wasn't that at all.

She coughed to clear her throat and to get his attention once more, guessing from the suddenly blank expression on his face that the child was reliving the horror of watching the barn and stable burn, and then he snapped out of his trance and moved to take up his position, and Bridget could not help smiling to herself, mainly with relief, as he bent forward and grasped the man's ankles in his small hands, and then she realized that that wasn't going to work.

"That's no good. Other way around, Kenny. You need to see where you are going," she prompted with a grin, rising stiffly to her feet as the child dropped the man's legs, none too gently, splashing water down the front of his pants, and Bridget winced on the man's behalf, silently conceding to herself that perhaps for his sake, it was a good thing that he was out cold, as she watched Kenny turn around and fumble around behind him, Boomer fussing around him too, anxious to get in on the act and almost knocking the child over backward in his excitement.

"Boomer, if you can't do anything useful, get out of the way!"

Coming to stand behind the child, Bridget swatted the excited blood hound away from Kenny then carefully bent down and lifted the man's legs at his knees, then raised his lower legs slightly to straighten them out so that she could slip them through the crook of Kenny's elbow and wrap the lower portion, knees to ankles around the child's waist, telling Kenny where to place his hands, linking them together under the man's knees so that he could take more of the man's weight without staggering.

Bridget quickly returned to the man's head and shoulders, reaching out to place each of his arms carefully across his chest, noting as she did so that he had nice hands, tanned and not too big, but with short, strong fingers tipped with short neat nails, and that he did not seem to be wearing any jewelry.

No wait, she could feel something solid and metallic around his right forearm under his leather jacket and shirt sleeve mid way between his wrist and elbow. Curiosity drove her to probe it carefully and after several minutes of running her fingers around it she determined that it seemed to a sort of narrow metallic circlet, not a full circle like a watch strap, but more like a bangle or a bracelet, the sort of thing one might wear around the wrist, but in his case it seemed to have gotten forced up his arm, either in the fall, or maybe it irritated him and he had shoved it further up his sleeve rather than take it off completely.

It seemed a reasonable assumption to Bridget, for a man who seemed to prefer no other obvious kind of adornment.

_**So why wear the bracelet at all if it bothered him that much?**_

Maybe she had gotten lucky and it was an ID bracelet, or the kind that had important medical information on it if the wearer had a serious medical condition or required specific treatment in the case of an accident, she mused silently, reaching out to try to pull back the cuff of his jacket and shirt then decided against it because both were tight around his chunky wrist.

It would require more energy than she was prepared to expend on non essential exertion to wrestle both garments up his arm high enough to satisfy her curiosity, and therefore, she decided that it could wait until she got him home.

Aside from the metal circlet, he did not seem to be wearing any other jewelry. There were no rings on his fingers. No pinkie ring. No college ring. No wedding band and no tell tale tan line to indicate that he might have worn one up until recently. He also wasn't wearing a watch, although there was a patch of white around his left wrist between the cuff of his jacket and his tan hand, where he was obviously used to wearing one.

Slipping her arms under his shoulders, Bridget braced herself and used all her body weight to raise the man off the ground, gasping from the effort. He might be small, but he was compact and solidly built and she wasn't exactly a giant herself.

_**Oh boy!**_

_**This wasn't going to be easy at all!**_

Gasping and panting and trying to keep her balance on the uneven ground, as she slid her arms under his armpits, interlinking the fingers of her hands across his chest to get a better purchase and tried to absorb most of his weight, Bridget realized that they must make quite a ridiculous sight.

The man's body was sagging badly in the middle region, making a kind of wonky V shape, and she suddenly found herself grinning as she realized that he was in danger of getting a very wet backside as it trailed through the stream, but there was nothing else for it and no other way of getting back to the path that would lead to home.

_**Wet pants were the least of his worries right now!**_

Bridget once again grew serious when she realized that the man could have sustained serious internal injuries for all she knew.

She wasn't a doctor, and although she hadn't been able to feel any obvious broken bones when she had gently patted him down, she guessed that a fall like that had to have caused him some damage, and she found herself praying that if he was hurt it wasn't too serious.

Minor cuts and abrasions she could deal with, having learned basic first aid from her mother when she was still a teenager, another necessity for living safely out here, but internal bleeding or a serious head injury were beyond her capabilities.

She needed to get him back to the cabin so she could check him over properly, and she couldn't leave him out here to the mercy of the elements and the inhabitants of the forest that roamed around seeking food during the night.

"Ok, Kenny, show us the way home!" Bridget panted breathlessly, struggling to keep a decent grip on the slippery well worn leather jacket around the man's chest. He was too heavy for her to stand still for long, her feet already getting bogged down in the slightly softer ground, and she realized that the sunbeams that had previously been streaming in through the gaps in the trees were dimming and it was already starting to get darker.

Time to get moving.

They set off, staggering like a couple of drunks on their way home on a Saturday night, Boomer occasionally barking encouragement as he ran ahead to make sure that the way was clear then bounded back to report his findings.

Woman and child headed back to the cabin, Bridget cajoling Kenny when he started to flag and trying to keep his attention by making jokes and singing funny little songs, and distracting Boomer when he got too boisterous, as the evening grew darker and eerily silent, swiftly closing in around them, and inch by painful inch the distance to their destination became shorter.

They had to stop frequently, adjusting their hold on the unconscious man, wringing aching wrists and fingers briefly, stretching aching backs and shoulders too as they stood still and got back their breath, then moved on a little more, until finally, just as the last fingers of sunlight were heading toward the distant horizon, Bridget spotted the boundary fence and the kitchen garden beyond it over Kenny's shoulders, and detected the faint but acrid stench of smoke and charred wood still lingering despite the fact that the wind had changed direction and had now practically died down altogether.

"Hey buddy, we're nearly there," she called out to encourage the exhausted child as he staggered gracelessly, his legs shaking with the effort to stay upright. "Not much further," she panted raggedly, also staggering on the bumpy, uneven ground. "We'll have to get him cleaned up and comfortable, but then I'll make us some dinner. I'm so hungry I could eat a bear!"

"Me too, but I sure hope you don't expect me to go out and shoot one!" Kenny gasped, and his attempts at humor suddenly lightened Bridget's heart.

Maybe things would be ok after all.

Maybe their working together to help this man would help to create a stronger bond between them.

Bridget found herself hoping that it would prove to be the case, because it would certainly make life in the future a lot easier for both of them.

Suddenly, Kenny lurched to one side and to save him self, involuntarily flung out his little stick like arms, pin wheeling as he loosed his hold on the man's legs, which in turn wrenched the top half of the man's body in Bridget's arms, and the sudden, unexpected extra weight pulled Bridget down ward and she too had to let go of the man as she pitched forward.

Dropping to her knees and rolling away from the man and gasping raggedly, ignoring the pain shooting through her jarred knees and hips, Bridget's eyes darted to the place where Kenny had disappeared and she was relieved to find him getting to his feet and dusting himself down, a bashful grin on his face as he peered back at her through the gloom and his long fringe.

Realizing that the boy was exhausted and that if they tried to go one step further under their present arrangement, it would only end in the same result, maneuvering herself into a sitting position and stretching out her legs to ease the stinging in her knees where she had landed on several small but very sharp stones, drawing in deep, refreshing breaths, Bridget began to try to work out how she was going to get the man across the short distance to the cabin without all three of them breaking their necks.

_**Hey buddy, a little help would be appreciated about now!**_

However, the man still showed no signs of coming around.

_**Oh well, it was just a thought.**_

_**Now if we had Lassie instead of Boomer, she would grab a hold of his pants leg and pull him the rest of the way for me!**_

This thought raised a weak smile to Bridget's lips now and she fleetingly began to wonder if she wasn't going just the slightest bit crazy.

_**Ok,**** time to get serious and think kiddo. **_

**_You need to find some other way to get him home without breaking both your necks!_**

_**Fireman's lift or piggy back?**_

Neither prospect appealed to her as she felt sure that both would only make the aches and pains in her neck and shoulders worse, but she couldn't rely on Kenny any longer.

After giving it serious thought for a few minutes, Bridget dismissed both options from her mind.

So close.

They were so close to home she couldn't give up now.

She could see the outline of the kitchen garden and the silhouette of the ruined stable and barn in the lengthening shadows, but she couldn't help thinking that either move was too risky to attempt.

If she stumbled, missed her footing or tripped, their combined weight would result in a heavy fall, and if she broke her ankle they would all be in deep trouble because there was no way that Kenny would be able to get too stricken adults to the safety of the cabin under his own steam.

Fortunately, because they were so close, Bridget knew that after the first few feet the terrain would be a little easier, and not so rough on the man's legs and lower body, so, there was one less risky option left open to her.

She could drag him.

Kenny could be her eyes, guiding her to the cabin, and supporting his upper body once more she could pull the man the short distance to the cabin.

Ultimately it might take a bit longer, and would probably be more exhausting in the long run, but with the increasing gloom, it was the safest option left open to her.

"I'm sorry, Aunt Midge," Kenny came loping up to stand beside her, pushing Boomer out of his way as he came to a halt beside her, huffing and puffing from the exertion and winded from his fall.

"It's ok, buddy. You did well," she praised, running her gaze up and down his body critically to make sure that he hadn't hurt himself in the fall. "You ok?"

"Yeah, but I'm pooped," the child sighed heavily, his shoulders sagging as his breath fanned his fringe, lifting it briefly from his eyes and his brow.

"Me too," Bridget grinned back. "But we can't give up now."

"Ok," Kenny again sighed deeply, this time in resignation as he moved to take up his place at the man's ankles once more.

"No buddy, we're gonna to do things a little different from here. I need you to be my eyes this time, Kenny. I'm gonna drag him. That means that I will be going backwards so I won't be able to see where I'm going. I'm going to need you to tell me. You can do that, can't you, sport?"

"Sure I can."

"Good man! Just give me a minute to get my breath back, and then we'll get moving."

"Ok."

They remained silent for a few minutes, Bridget breathing hard, trying to get her second wind and building herself up ready for the next phase of the journey to the cabin, until at last, Kenny peered at her through his fine honey colored fringe, a frown tugging at his brow as if he had suddenly remembered something vital.

"Aunt Midge, I'm hungry. What's for dinner?" he asked with a childish innocence, and suddenly, Bridget Goodwin found herself chuckling at the precious look on her nephew's angelic dirt smeared face.

_**How typical of a man to be thinking of his stomach!**_

"Really?" she arched an eyebrow lazily and regarded him with barely concealed amusement.

"Yeah. Really," he confirmed in serious tones.

"Well, in that case, scamp, I guess that's my cue to get a move on," she grinned, rising as gracefully as her tired, forty something legs would allow, and after dusting herself down and knocking the dust from her hands against her denim encased thighs, she reached out and gently ruffled the child's hair.

"You need a hair cut."

"Yuk. Uh uh," Kenny shook his head vigorously and she removed her hand quickly.

"Too bad, buddy. If you go to school looking like that they're apt to mistake you for a girl," Bridget clamped her lips together and bit back the guffaw that was suddenly on the tip of her tongue, elicited by the look of outrage on Kenny's face.

**_Now you've gone and done it! Insulted his masculinity! Shame on you!_**

"I don't know why you're making such a fuss about it. You know it doesn't hurt," she sighed softly, knowing that her barb had hit the mark, denting his male pride, but she wasn't worried because she knew that he would get over it. "And it will grow back," she assured, but Kenny still didn't look happy about the prospect of having to sit still for longer than five minutes just so that he could get a trim.

In the mean time, they still had work to do.

"You still didn't tell me what's for dinner," Kenny reminded in belligerent tones now, kicking out at a stone with the toe of his sneaker, probably hoping to distract her from her plan to get his hair cut.

"Boiled eggs and toast," Bridget told him absently, stooping to once again slide her hands under the insensate man's armpits, her tone leaving Kenny in no doubt that if he didn't like what was on the menu it was just too bad, then suddenly she remembered seeing a small tub of vanilla ice cream in the bottom of the freezer, and a plastic bottle of chocolate sauce in the back of one of the kitchen cupboards, and instantly made a decision, be it reward or bribe, about what she would make for dessert.

"And Banana Splits for dessert," she declared, raising her eyes from the insensate man to grin at Kenny.

"Wow! Banana Splits! Wow!"

This immediately put a big, self satisfied grin on his face as he jumped excitedly up and down on the spot, and again Bridget found herself chuckling at his antics.

_**Well I guess the man of the house approves of that! **_She thought to herself with relief. **_Instant forgiveness! If only everything else in life were that simple!_**

She was still smiling a moment later as she hefted the man's upper body upward and juggled with his weight to get a better hold and to keep her balance, and then taking in a deep breath, began hauling the man, turning him around so that he was facing the other way on the path and she had her back to her destination.

She paused again to get her breath then putting every last ounce of strength she could muster into it, Bridget Goodwin began to pull with all her might, counting on Kenny to keep her on the right track as she tried to ignore the protests of her aching muscles and the pain in her arms and neck, and shoulders and concentrated instead on the narrow ruts the heels of the man's boots were gouging out of the dry earth, marking their progress.

It wasn't pretty, and she had to stop several times to get her breath and wipe the perspiration from her eyes with the back of her hand, but finally she staggered in to the cabin and collapsed into an exhausted, breathless heap on the floor in the centre of the living area, beside the still unconscious man.

"We made it!" she gasped out, grinning manically at Kenny as he and Boomer came to stand beside her, watching her curiously.

"You ok, Aunt Midge?"

"Yeah, I'm good. Just need a minute to get my breath back," she assured somewhat raggedly, then lay back, exhausted, resting her head on the cabin floor for just a moment, closing her eyes so that she could concentrate on filling her aching, oxygen deprived lungs.

"Why don't you go and see to Boomer," Bridget opened her eyes briefly to regard her nephew, mopping her perspiration dewed brow with the back of her hand. "Feed him and make sure he has some clean water. I'll call you if I need you."

Nodding mutely, shoulders sagging just a little now that the adventure was over and he was once again reduced to having to do his chores, Bridget watched as Kenny trudged back out through the open door, taking an equally reluctant Boomer with him then she sank back on to the floor and closed her eyes once more.

When her breathing finally became more even and her heart rate settled down, Bridget ran her hand lightly over her face and then opened her eyes, turning her head slightly to look at the man lying on the cabin floor beside her. She was somewhat startled to find a pair of confused blue eyes regarding her steadily and a frown tugging at the man's brow.

"Cait?" he spoke the one word in a thick, groggy voice, then pulled another face and shook his head sharply as though he knew that there was something not quite right with the supposition, then let out a groan of pain and carefully let his head fall back to the ground, raising his hand to his temple, obviously the location of the pain he was feeling in his head Bridget surmised silently, as she watched his fingers gently probing his forehead and then drifted to the spot behind his ear that she had previously noticed was matted with dried blood.

"Well, hi there," Bridget lay perfectly still for a moment, not wanting to startle him, watching as his eyes blinked rapidly several times as he tried to focus then withdrew his hand and checked to see if there was blood on it, then glanced around the room, moving his head gingerly as he took in his surroundings, a confused expression still clouding his handsome features.

"Where am I?" he asked as his eyes finally settled back on her face.

"Some place safe," Bridget assured. "You got a name, mister?"

His expression grew vacant for just a split second and his eyes clouded over, and then he blinked and turned his head to look at her once more and slowly raised one shoulder in a shrug, wincing as he did so.

"Never mind, I'm sure it'll come to you, when you've had a chance to get your bearings," Bridget sat up slowly now, recalling that when she had been checking him over for broken bones and concealed weapons, the one thing she hadn't come across was evidence of a wallet in any of his pockets.

He must have lost it in the fall, and it appeared that his wallet wasn't the only thing that he had lost, if the vacant expression on his face was any indication.

**_That, and calling her by another woman's name of course._**

The bang on the head had obviously affected his memory, Bridget realized with a heavy heart.

The man copied her actions, sitting up slowly, but it was clear to see from the sickly look that suddenly crossed his face that the movement was causing him some considerable discomfort.

"Think you can get on your feet? Just long enough to help me get you to the couch, and then I can start cleaning you up."

Bridget pointed to the sagging ancient couch just a few feet away and he slowly followed the direction of her finger with his eyes.

After a few seconds of trying to evaluate his condition and judging the distance, he nodded, very slowly and very carefully then closed his eyes as though he were very dizzy and she watched anxiously as the color drained from his face.

"Hey, you're not gonna get sick on me, are ya?"

"No, Ma'am," he assured her quickly, swallowing down the nausea as he opened his eyes once more, rapidly blinking away the tears that had sprung to his eyes.

"Bridget."

"Beg pardon?" he responded in vague tones, squinting more tears from his eyes.

"Bridget Goodwin, it's my name."

"Oh."

"C'mon, buddy, let's get you on the couch. You'll be more comfortable there. Ok?"

"Ok."

"That's good," Bridget encouraged as she got to her knees and watched him follow suit, only to have to reach out swiftly to steady him when it seemed that he would topple over.

"I'm ok," he assured her once more, but Bridget wasn't convinced and continued to hold on to him as they both got to their feet, slowly, and then taking his arm and moving very slowly, she helped him to walk the short distance across the room until at last he collapsed on to the couch and let out a soft moan, raising his hand to lay the back against his brow as he closed his eyes and concentrated on dragging air into his lungs and trying to stop the world from spinning.

"Thank you," he managed to gasp out at last, dropping his arm back down to his side and opening his eyes at last, still blinking and obviously having difficulty in focusing.

"You just lay still and I'll go get you some clean clothes and something to put on those cuts."

"You're very kind."

"We'll see if you still think that after I've fetched the iodine," Bridget smiled softly and was rewarded with a small, half smile from her house guest. "You just take things easy, mister. I won't be a minute, and if the boy comes back in, don't let him bother you. Just shoo him away and tell him to go wash up ready for dinner."

After watching her fluid and graceful movements as she walked away from him the man lay back against the couch once more and allowed himself to relax, relieved because by some strange twist of fate, instead of being killed in that horrific fall, he had somehow found the very thing that he had been looking for.

Sanctuary.

He had no idea where he was, or who the woman and the boy she had mentioned were, but he sensed that he was safe here, at least for the night, and he decided that he would worry about tomorrow when tomorrow came.


	14. Chapter 14

**_Chapter Thirteen._**

_**Santini Air Hangar,**_

_**Van Nuys Airport, California.**_

_**Early Evening.**_

Caitlin O'Shannessy was waiting in the doorway of the brightly illuminated Santini Air hangar when Dominic Santini set down the patriotically painted Bell Jet Ranger helicopter on the tarmac a few feet away.

She had not been happy to be left behind at the hangar, at Dom's request, so that she could monitor the radio and the telephone, just in case Hawke should try to make contact and it had been an uncomfortable time for her, trying not to allow her mind to conjure up all the horrors that could have befallen Hawke, filling her heart with dread about what Megan Ravenson might learn while she was up there at Hawke's cabin.

Caitlin had reluctantly agreed to Dominic's request, mainly because she did not want to subject herself to the heartache she knew that she would have to endure up at the empty cabin.

She had felt useless and ineffectual here at the hangar waiting for a message that she knew would not come, but she knew that she would have been more upset wandering around the empty cabin, picturing Hawke leaning against the bar or the fireplace, recalling happier times and wondering if she would ever see him again.

Cursing herself for a fool a thousand times over for not saying what was really in her heart, no matter how he reacted.

She loved him.

What did it matter if he did not or could not love her in return?

They were friends, and nothing would ever change that.

The other reason she had agreed to stay behind was because she did not want to be there if Megan Ravenson sensed that something unpleasant had happened to String and declared that he was dead after all.

Caitlin knew that Dominic trusted Megan's so called gift, and while she could not deny that she too had experienced something that had scared her so badly she had had to come home to find out that her two dear friends were ok, she did not completely believe in Megan's insight.

It all seemed just a little too vague to Caitlin.

Of course, she knew that Megan had helped Hawke and Dominic to find Archangel a few months back, but she hadn't been closely involved, left behind again to man the radio and the telephone, but she did know that the whole process had irritated Hawke beyond his usual gruffness, and so it was hard for her to contemplate that he might be reaching out psychically to Megan if he were in trouble now.

_**Why her, and not to someone closer, someone who loved him?**_

_**Jealous? **_

A little voice had taunted her as she had sat alone, in the uncomfortable silence of the back office.

_**Jealous that**__** maybe he is in contact with her and not you? **_

_**Or are you jealous that she is able to be in contact with him because**__** he has feelings for her and her for him?**_

_**Sometimes, when people love each other that deeply, they are connected in ways that other people can't understand?**_

_**Is that how it is**__** with Megan and Hawke?**_

Caitlin had had to silently concede that just for a split second she had felt the rising of the green eyed monster in her breast but had quickly quashed it, knowing that it wasn't productive and that it might just get in the way of Megan doing what needed to be done.

The truth of the matter was, Caitlin knew, she couldn't make Stringfellow Hawke love her and she couldn't stop him from falling in love with someone else.

If that happened, she would just have to accept it and live with it as best she could.

She wanted Hawke in her life, and if that meant having to watch him fall in love with and marry someone else, then she would just have to swallow it, because the alternative was something that she would not even consider, and if that made her a fool, so what?

She would never stop loving him no matter what she had told her father about looking elsewhere, if Hawke didn't show her any sign that he might feel the same way about her as she did about him, and in her heart Caitlin knew that it was would not be right to encourage some other man to love her, knowing that she could not completely commit her heart to him, because part of it would always belong to Hawke.

If she and Hawke were not destined to become a couple, then she would happily settle for friendship.

Some things were just too important and the friendship that she shared with Hawke and the part she played as a member of the flight crew of Airwolf were things that she was not prepared to relinquish under any circumstances.

She needed something to do to stop her mind from wandering and speculating but the radio and telephone remained stubbornly silent, the only noise in the office the impatient drumming of her fingernails on the desk as she continued to wait, her heart heavy in her chest as she seemed unable to shake off the ominous feeling that something really bad had indeed happened to Stringfellow Hawke and they were wasting time looking for him in the wrong place.

Caitlin could not help thinking that instead of waiting for Megan to get the right kind of information from a dream or one of her visions, and decode it properly, or from being at the cabin and touching Hawke's belonging, they should be doing something specific, like taking Airwolf up and using her scanners to hunt for Hawke. Readings from her instruments were more reliable, and she would feel a whole lot better to be physically doing something to find Hawke rather than sitting here alternately drumming or chewing on her fingernails.

She had been in the doorway for a few minutes, anxiously nibbling the skin around a fingernail one minute then capturing her bottom lip between her teeth to chew on that briefly before returning to worry at a different fingernail the next, as she awaited Santini's return from Stringfellow Hawke's cabin with Megan Ravenson.

Santini had radioed his final approach a few minutes before and if she had been hoping to get some clue as to how successful the trip up to Eagle Lake had been from the tone of his voice, then she was sorely disappointed, gleaning nothing from her friend's calm and professional tones over the radio.

After acknowledging Santini's radio call, Caitlin had hurried from the office out into the hangar, switching on the main lights, glad to be physically doing something at last.

Jimmy Flynn had done a good job of tidying up the hangar earlier on in the day, but Caitlin kept herself busy getting the trailer ready to bring in the Bell Jet Ranger and get it bedded down for the night and opening the hangar doors wider, then she had found a spot in the open doorway, close to the hangar telephone extension and leaned against the doorjamb to wait.

Dominic Santini bought the Santini Air chopper in low and graceful and set her down gently on the tarmac a few feet away from where Caitlin stood, watching patiently, as her friend went through the process of shutting down the Bell Jet Ranger, flicking off switches and monitoring instruments as he waited for the main rotor overhead to slow, and then he and Megan Ravenson alighted and walked the short distance toward her slowly.

Caitlin O'Shannessy did not need to be psychic to know that the trip had proved of little value, she could instantly tell from the dejected set of Dominic Santini's shoulders and his slow, lumbering gait as he walked across the tarmac toward her.

Without stopping Santini brushed past her and continued on into the hangar heading toward the back office, then obviously thought better of it and turned back to regard Caitlin with steady brown eyes.

"Any coffee on? he asked gruffly before she had a chance to open her mouth and voice the question on her lips.

"Sure," Caitlin responded calmly, her gaze drifting briefly to Megan Ravenson's tired but passive expression before returning to settle on Dominic Santini's equally tired and emotionless face.

In response to Caitlin's questioning look, Dominic Santini raised his hands in frustration then turned his back on the fiery redhead and began walking back toward the office and Caitlin turned her irritated, questioning gaze back on Megan Ravenson.

"Need some help with that coffee?" Megan inquired politely.

"What happened up there?" Caitlin demanded.

"Nothing happened up there Caitlin," Megan sighed wearily, glancing around the hangar to see if she could find the coffee pot. "I couldn't get much of any thing."

"You mean he's dead!" Caitlin cut in abruptly, eyes growing wide. "That's what you do, isn't it? Talk to dead people!" her tone was haughty, accusing, her grey eyes dancing with anger as she glowered at Megan Ravenson, yet she could not deny that hope was suddenly reborn in her heart.

Hawke couldn't be dead.

He just couldn't be.

_**But if he was alive, how did Megan know that he was in trouble? How could she be in contact with him?**_

Caitlin did not understand, could not grasp the concept of even being able to speak to the dead, much less knowing that a living soul was in danger, but she desperately wanted to believe that Hawke was alive.

"Sometimes. Yes," Megan spoke calmly in a soft, low, tolerant voice. "Some times I see dead people, and some times I talk to dead people, but that's not all I do, Caitlin," Megan let out a soft, weary sigh now.

"I once told Hawke that what I really do is try to help the living, reassuring them that the people they have lost are happy or at peace, some times just letting them know that they're not gone at all. That's what I told Hawke, about his brother, that he's right to go on believing that Sinjin is still alive because I never once had any indication that he might be dead," Megan explained patiently.

"There are many aspects to my work, Caitlin, and none of them are straight forward. It's not easy to explain and I don't expect you to understand, but it isn't just about the dead. Some times when people are in trouble, subconsciously they are able to tap into a psychic gift that they didn't know that they had, and without even realizing it, in their desperate need to stay alive, they reach out, transmit that danger, and some times I am lucky enough to be able to connect with them."

"And that's what you think Hawke is doing?" Caitlin frowned, tilting her head to one side, bird like, as she tried to get her brain to accept what Megan was saying.

_**Hawke, psychic? Was it possible?**_

"Yes. I think he has some latent psychic ability, Cait, and he may not know that he is doing it, but he is trying to reach out. Maybe that's why I can't get anything specific, because he doesn't have control of it. I think that last night I might have somehow tapped in to one of his dreams, the one about the war and his brother, but as for the other stuff, I know it sounds crazy to you, nonsense, but that's something that I don't have any control over. I see what I see and then I have to try to make sense out of it. It's not always straight forward or literal," Megan explained.

"And you still say he's not dead?" Caitlin demanded, a frown puckering her brow now as though she still could not grasp the fact that Hawke did not have to be dead for Megan to be in some kind of contact with him.

Megan Ravenson nodded her head gently in confirmation that she still believed that Hawke was alive.

"But you said you didn't get anything," Caitlin reminded impatiently.

"No, Caitlin, what I mean is that I couldn't get any sense of him right now, that's all, but I most certainly did not get anything that might indicate to me that he is gone," Megan assured swiftly.

"I don't understand it myself Caitlin, it's like there's a big hole where he should be right now and I can't get any connection to him, but I'm working on it. Believe me, I'm working on it and right now, a cup of coffee would go a long way to helping me stay awake so that I can figure it out," Megan smiled benignly at the younger woman now.

"Maybe you should just go home and see if you can have another one of those dreams of yours," Caitlin snapped and turning on her heel walked swiftly away from Megan Ravenson.

"Okay," Megan breathed the word as she watched Caitlin O'Shannessy storm across the hangar and snatch at the door on the other side, and then quickly disappear through it and then despite herself, began to smile, a little ruefully.

"I guess it's just another day at the office after all," she mumbled sarcastically to herself, although she somehow suspected that Caitlin's problem with her was not so much to do with her psychic ability as her feminine wiles and how she might have used them on Stringfellow Hawke.

On any other day, the fact that the younger woman saw her as a love rival might have been a compliment, but today Megan was just too tired and frustrated and although she hadn't shown it to Dominic Santini, she was worried about this sensation of disconnection and detachment she was feeling with regard to Hawke because it was something that she had never encountered before.

She could not help wondering if it meant that somewhere out there Stringfellow Hawke was perhaps badly injured, his life in the balance, and that he was suspended in some kind of limbo, conducting a silent debate with himself about whether to keep fighting to stay alive, or to simply let go, to cross over and be reunited once again with the people that he had loved and lost.

Megan had no answers, either for herself or for Dominic Santini and Caitlin O'Shannessy and all she could do was have faith in her gift and hope that something more concrete would come to her and soon.

0-0-0-0

Caitlin O'Shannessy found Dominic Santini in the back office, standing beside the filing cabinet where they kept their supply of aerial maps, his hand hovering over the section labeled with the letter W.

Her abrupt arrival in the office distracted him from his task of locating the Washing State map he had been seeking, and he knew immediately from the angry look on her face what she had come here for.

"Dom, I know you trust Megan and have faith in her gift, but we're wasting time. I think we should go get the Lady and start looking for Hawke ourselves," Caitlin spoke quickly, breathlessly, wringing her hands as she rushed on, her eyes imploring him to listen to reason.

"So you do still think that something has happened to String? You don't think it's all a bunch of hokum?"

"No," Caitlin's voice wavered just for a moment. "I know in here," she laid her quivering hand gently over the top of her left breast and fixed steady grey eyes on Santini now. "I know something isn't right, Dom, and that's why I know we shouldn't be leaving it all to Megan. We should be out there looking for him, Dom, turning over ever damn stone with our bare hands if we have to!"

"And where should we start, Cait? It would be like looking for a needle in a haystack," Santini reminded regretfully, weariness and dejection making his shoulders sag once more.

"We know where Hawke planned to land, we could start from there."

"Do you have any idea how big Washington State is, Cait?" Santini sighed, turning away from her to resume his search for the right aerial map, locating it quickly and pulling it out of the cabinet drawer. "The kind of terrain we'd be up against out there?"

"Dom, we can't just be sitting here!"

"I know it's not in your nature, Cait, but some times you just gotta have a little patience," Santini moved from the filing cabinet and sat down heavily at the desk, setting the folded map down on the already cluttered surface then turned steady brown eyes on his young friend.

"I believe that something has happened to String too. Oh, no, not because I feel it, I'm sorry to say that I don't, although there have been times in the past when I have felt that he was in danger, or that I might have lost him," he told her in a sorrowful voice.

"I know something ain't right because I know you and I trust you, and I know that you don't get worked up over nothing, and, I've never known Megan to cry wolf."

Santini paused momentarily to draw in a long, deep breath then expelled it as an equally long and audible hiss.

"You're right, Cait, I do have faith in Megan's gift. I've seen what she can do, given a chance. I have good reason to believe in her, honey, and she is still our best chance of getting a fix on where String is," he told her bluntly.

"If we take the Lady up now, Cait, we'd be flying blind. We could go around and around in circles and never find Hawke, but if Megan can get something from the map, give us a general direction to start looking," his voice trailed away and he dropped his head and let out another deep sigh.

"Why is it so hard for you to believe that Megan can help us?" he asked, raising his head once more and pinning Caitlin with steady questioning brown eyes. "Look at you, you're standing here because you had some kind of weird feeling that convinced you that something was wrong here and you came rushing back because you believed it without question," he reminded her solemnly.

"Why are you questioning what Meg can do, when you just did it too? And while we're at it, you don't have a monopoly on loving String, Cait. I love him too, and there isn't anything that I wouldn't do to find him and that includes using someone like Megan, even though I can never hope to understand how she does what she does."

Santini stopped speaking when his voice began to quiver with emotion and he felt tears stinging at the corners of his eyes.

Drawing in a deep, calming breath, he waited until he was once again in control of his emotions and then continued.

"Some times it boils down to a question of faith, Caitlin, and I do have faith in Megan, just as I have faith in String to do his best to try to help us to find him, and just as I have faith that you will do whatever needs to be done, and faith in the big man upstairs that he ain't ready for the kind of aggravation and grief String can bring down upon him for making him go before he's good and ready."

Santini paused, watching the war going on behind Caitlin O'Shannessy's eyes as she struggled to accept what he was saying and quash her innate need to be doing something physical to find their friend.

"Cait, I know this is tough for you. Something happened to you that you don't understand and you can't explain, and you don't like how it has left you feeling," Santini regarded her steadily and reluctantly, Caitlin nodded. "So why are you standing in judgment of Megan? This happens to her all the time," Santini reminded her pointedly.

"I've seen what it does to her, Cait, the physical pain and the mental anguish, but she never gives up, because she knows that sometimes what she does can make a real difference. I've seen her tear herself apart, driven to find answers that other people can't, and I've seen the abuse, the derision, ridicule, scorn and hostility that she constantly has to take, from the very people that she is trying to help, and she keeps taking it, on the chin, like a real trooper, and she never asks for anything in return, not belief or even understanding and certainly not praise."

"She does what she does because she doesn't have any choice, Cait, it's not something that she can turn on or off on a whim, and she keeps taking the garbage that people throw at her because if she refused to help a lot of people could lose the one chance they have to save the people that they love."

Caitlin O'Shannessy listened patiently to everything that Dominic Santini was saying and felt a cold hand of shame grip her heart.

He was right.

She didn't know what had happened to her and she certainly couldn't explain it, and yet she had acted on that feeling and come rushing back to be with the people that she loved, uncaring if her family thought her crazy, just needing to be sure and see with her own eyes, and yes, she did feel foolish and as though she had no control any more, not knowing which way to turn, and if this was how Megan Ravenson felt all the time, no wonder she was cautious about what she said and who she said it too.

Dominic had said that Megan had never cried wolf.

He knew her well enough to believe that she would not have come to him with her concerns if she wasn't absolutely sure that something was amiss. She would never scare him unnecessarily, especially about String, because she knew how much the younger man meant to Dominic. Indeed, Megan had gone out of her way to play things down, and to state categorically that she believed that Hawke was still alive.

"I'm not asking you to understand, Caitlin, only that you have patience and let Meg do her thing. Work with her. For my sake, and for String's sake, please, work with her, don't fight against her, and I promise you, when the time is right, you and me and the Lady will go do our thing and bring our boy back home."

Santini let out a deep, ragged sigh and pinned Caitlin with a questioning look.

"Can you do that, Cait?"

"Of course I can, Dominic," Caitlin responded calmly, a small note of defiance in her voice, knowing that although in his heart Santini understood why she was reacting this way, he was disappointed in her behavior toward Megan Ravenson.

He was right about that too.

She hadn't been very fair with the woman, Caitlin silently conceded, partly because she could not help wondering what she meant to String, but she had been wrong to allow jealousy to drive her.

There were lots of things in this world that she didn't understand, but she didn't get angry with them or poke fun at them. She had always thought of herself as having an open mind, and she was ashamed now to realize that perhaps she wasn't as open minded as she had believed.

Caitlin moved to the desk slowly and reached out across it, laying her hand down gently over Dominic Santini's slightly bigger paw and gave it a gentle squeeze. He regarded her curiously for a moment then nodded softly, allowing his lips to curl upward in a small, weary smile.

Caitlin withdrew her hand and span around on her heel, marching back across the office on purposeful strides making for the still open door.

"Where are you going now?" Santini asked in a bemused voice, a frown tugging at his brow beneath his baseball cap.

Caitlin came to an abrupt halt and turned back to face Santini.

"To fetch that coffee you asked me for and to apologize to Megan. I wasn't very tactful, I'm afraid," Caitlin admitted, although she suspected that he already knew that, hence the need to set her straight on a few things.

It was perhaps her only fault, that some times she wasn't as guarded with her tongue as she should be. It went along with the fiery nature, but some times, it got her into trouble.

There were times when speaking your mind was required, but there were also times when it was prudent to shut up and keep your thoughts to yourself, and Caitlin had yet to master that particular art.

"Be right back."

"I'll be here," Santini assured, allowing the smile to grow just a little wider then returned his attention to the still folded map lying on the desk before him as Caitlin disappeared back out into the main hangar.

Santini fleetingly wondered if there wasn't something else going on behind Caitlin's attitude toward Megan, but if the younger woman was harboring suspicions that Megan had feelings of a romantic nature for their mutual friend, Hawke, then Santini knew that she was barking up the wrong tree.

Many years before, Megan, seeing him as her father confessor, had confided to Dominic Santini that she had had it with men. She had told him that she was never again going to commit her heart to any one man, and, he had quickly realized that she was not unlike Stringfellow Hawke in that respect.

Megan had fallen in love when she was still very young and had trusted her heart and her future to her childhood sweetheart, only to have that trust thrown back in her face and her heart broken when her husband could not come to terms with her unique gift and grew tired of 'playing second fiddle to it' as he had told her as he stormed out of the marital home.

After a particularly painful and acrimonious divorce, Megan had vowed never to go down that road again. It was far too difficult, she had told Santini, for someone who didn't possess the gift themselves to understand how it affected her every day life, and how it drove her, and that no matter how much love there was, it was just too hard to have to try to explain to strangers and friends alike, the sudden lapses in memory or concentration when she was unexpectedly assaulted by a vision, how she knew things about them and their lives before they told her and why, suddenly, out of the blue, she felt compelled to rush off on some apparent wild goose chase.

No amount of love or patience or tolerance or understanding could really equip a person to live that kind of bewildering existence, and in the end, Meg's husband, Tony, had simply given up on trying and had walked away.

At the time, Dominic Santini had found himself thinking that some where out there, there was a smart young fella who would understand and be prepared to accept Megan for who and what she was, and he hadn't changed his mind in the intervening years, but Megan had already decided that she had been too badly hurt already, once bitten, twice shy, so why subject herself to all that heartache again.

Santini couldn't help thinking that it was such a pity, because she was a lovely young woman and a beautiful human being, and she had a lot to give, especially love, but Meg had chosen to throw herself into her work and her teaching, and now her pupils benefited from all that love, and in the main, Megan seemed at peace with the choice that she had made.

For all that he loved Hawke; Dominic Santini doubted that his young friend had had any influence in changing Megan's mind, especially after their initial meeting.

There had been fireworks between them but nothing to indicate a mutual attraction between them, quite the contrary, Santini now recalled with a wry smile.

Unfolding the map of Washington State out on the desk before him, Dominic Santini now allowed himself a genuine smile.

Poor Caitlin, she had it real bad for Hawke and it was getting harder and harder for her to try to conceal it. However, he couldn't help thinking that it was wise that she was trying to conceal it, because if Hawke realized just how much she cared, he would deliberately try to kill her love for him stone dead, because he couldn't work with her and love her and hope to keep her alive all at the same time.

Of course, Santini had his suspicions about Hawke's feelings for Caitlin too, after all, he had known him for a lot of years and knew all the signs when he was interested in a certain girl, and Santini recognized all the signs where Caitlin O'Shannessy was concerned.

However, he suspected that Hawke himself wasn't even aware of just how deep his feelings ran, and until he was ready to admit it to himself and confront those feelings and his fears that history would once again repeat it's self, poor Caitlin would have to be patient and keep her feelings to herself, satisfying herself with loving him from afar and calling it friendship.

_**Knuckle heads, the pair of them!**_ Santini found himself thinking with a mixture of mild amusement and irritation, but he had learned a long time ago to keep his nose out of such matters where Hawke was concerned, so all he could do was continue to watch and wait and hope that things would eventually resolve themselves to everyone's satisfaction.

_**And they'd better hurry up and get their act together because he wanted to enjoy his grandchildren while he was still young!**_

And that could only happen if they found Hawke, alive and well, so they had better come up with something, but fast.

_**C'mon kid, don't make a liar out of me. Help us if you can. Show us the way, String, **__**give us a place to start. **_

Santini appealed silently, his mind suddenly presenting him with a picture of the young man's happy, smiling, loving face.

_**We love you, kid. **_

_**We need you. So where ever you are and what ever else you might be doing, don't you give up on me. You hold on, kid, just hold on and we'll come and get you. I swear.**_

_**You've got so much to live for, son, so much still to do and people who love you, so hold on, String, hold on.**_


	15. Chapter 15

**_Chapter Fourteen._**

Caitlin O'Shannessy quietly opened the door to the main hangar, her heart heavy as she stood silently, framed in the open doorway, watching Megan Ravenson working on the other side of the hangar.

The older woman had obviously decided to make herself useful in Cait's absence and Caitlin could see that she had already filled the coffee pot and had it heating, and now she was setting out mugs on to a tray and hunting around for milk and sugar to set on the tray beside the mugs.

Caitlin noted that Megan's movements were slow and methodical and graceful, but she somehow got the impression that Megan was distracted, making physical work for herself and keeping herself busy while her mind was else where.

Caitlin knew that she owed the older woman an apology, but she also didn't know how to begin.

She had never had a problem admitting to her self when she was wrong, only making that admission to others.

Somehow, whenever she tried to make things right, she ended up putting her big foot into her mouth and only made things worse.

She didn't want to do that with Megan, after all, despite her unorthodox methods, she was only trying to help, and they both wanted the same thing. To get Hawke back safely.

Dominic was right.

They had to work together, and to do that, Caitlin knew that she would have to set aside her feelings of suspicion and doubt, and yes, jealousy, and try to keep an open mind and be more positive and up beat.

The only thing that mattered was finding Hawke, and Caitlin was mature enough to swallow her pride and her skepticism and do what needed to be done to achieve that goal.

"Did you find everything?" Caitlin asked in a soft, neutral voice, as she walked slowly across the hangar to join Megan Ravenson.

"Yes, I think so. Thanks."

"You seem to have it all under control," Caitlin smiled, still trying to work out how she was going to get around to apologizing to Megan then found herself frowning at the odd expression that suddenly crossed the older woman's face.

"You'd think so, wouldn't you, but some times, appearances can be deceptive," Megan sighed warily. "If I'm honest, half the time I don't have a clue," she allowed herself a small self deprecating smile, regarding the younger woman with a softer, more understanding expression her face now.

She liked Caitlin. She admired her spirit and her determination to stand up for what she believed in and to support the people that she loved, and her willingness to speak her mind.

Megan had hoped that they might become friends. Instead Caitlin had jumped to totally the wrong conclusion and had gotten herself so steamed up about it she had been ready to start a war with her.

Megan was unsure as to the younger woman's mood right now, and found herself hoping that Caitlin wasn't here to start round two.

She must have transmitted her wariness and suspicion to Caitlin for suddenly the younger woman was looking very crestfallen and shame faced.

"I'm sorry, Megan," Caitlin began in earnest. "I wasn't very polite to you a while ago. I don't know what came over me …."

"You don't?" Megan interjected with a note of incredulity. "I think I do. A touch of the green eyed monster," she let out a soft sigh, fighting to keep a grin from forming on her lips.

She knew that she had to be careful not to further enrage and irritate the younger woman by making light of something that was obviously very serious and important to her.

"Actually, I'm flattered, but the truth is, Caitlin, you have nothing to fear from me. It's _**you **_thatHawke loves, not me. In fact," Megan rushed on when she saw the startled look on Caitlin's face and her jaw drop open, her mouth opening to make a swift denial no doubt. "Hawke and I barely know each other. We're not even friends really, more acquaintances. Hell, I've only had dealings with the man twice and neither meeting was particularly comfortable, for either of us," she explained quickly, a rueful smile beginning to tug at the corners of her lips now as she remembered Stringfellow Hawke's unconcealed anger and animosity and scorn, mildly amused at the thought that it had been hardly the most auspcious of beginnings and certainly not the start a steamy romance was made of. Indeed, at times it had seemed that Hawke more likely had murder on his mind than romance.

"We kind of got under each other's skin, I admit, but not in the way you think, Caitlin," Megan's smile grew slightly wider at the astonished look on the younger woman's face then she pulled herself together, knowing that if they were going to make peace with each other, she had to get serious and make things perfectly clear to Caitlin O'Shannessy.

"I don't love Hawke, and he doesn't love me. Maybe he doesn't know it, or can't admit it even to himself, but you are the one he loves, Caitlin," Megan assured now, confident in her belief that she was speaking an absolute truth, because she had felt it the last time she had been in the Santini Air office and seen the two young people together.

Caitlin continued to stare at her in open mouthed astonishment, and so Megan decided to plow on, knowing that there would never be a better time to say what she needed to say, sensing that it wasn't very often that the feisty red head was actually lost for words, and that she should take advantage of that to offer some friendly sisterly advice.

"You know what he's been through, about the people that he has lost, and you know that he has this ridiculous idea in his head that his love kills the people that he loves?" Caitlin closed her mouth now and nodded mutely, eyes wide and sorrowful, a resigned expression on her face now.

"So, right now, the only way for him to get by each day is to keep telling himself that he can't get involved with anyone right now, that life is too dangerous and unpredictable and fraught and that any woman who gets tangled up with him will also be in danger, so he reasons that it is better not to invite trouble, not to deliberately place someone in the line of fire," Megan paused to take a breath, and offered Caitlin a soft, reassuring smile as the younger woman continued to stare at her, still somewhat aghast.

"So, the only way to counteract that thinking is to show the stubborn SOB that you can take care of yourself, and him, that he can count on you to face that danger alongside him, and hold your own. The longer you stay alive, the more he is questioning that flawed premise, the one that says that all the people that he has ever loved have died, and the more he questions that belief, the more he will begin to see that he is wrong."

Caitlin O'Shannessy nodded softly, marveling at Megan Ravenson's sensitivity and understanding, unsure if she knew any of this because of her unique insight, or from studying human nature.

"Right now, Caitlin, Hawke thinks that he is not only protecting himself from more heartache and grief, but saving your life too. It is what he truly believes and it's become a habit that he can't break, so maybe you have to be the strong one, the brave one, and show him that it doesn't always have to be that way."

Megan Ravenson suddenly came to an abrupt halt, eyes growing wide as though she had suddenly realized what she was saying, and feared that she had said too much and over stepped the mark with the younger woman.

"Hey, look, I'm sorry, Caitlin. It isn't any of my business. I should maybe keep my thoughts to myself," Megan rushed on now. "It's just that I wanted you to know that I really am no threat to you," she paused for a moment, silently debating the wisdom of carrying on, then decided to throw caution to the wind.

"Look Cait, I made a choice, a long time ago, a rash decision, or so Dominic thinks. I was married once, and it didn't work out. This thing I do, this so called gift I have was just too much craziness for him to handle, so when Tony walked out on me, I decided there and then that enough was enough, and meeting Stringfellow Hawke didn't do anything to change my mind about that!" she grinned now.

"He's cute and all that, in a rough and rugged kind a way, if you like that kind of thing, but he made his feelings about who and what I am very clear," she clarified swiftly. "And I realized that nothing has changed. Honey, I'm still not in the market for romance. I may be older and a bit wiser, but people are people, and even though I've had this gift all my life, its hard even for me to have to deal with it day in and day out, so how can I expect someone who doesn't know what it feels like, to understand it and have to live with it too?"

Megan emitted a long, ragged sigh and dropped her head, briefly, then quickly lifted it once more when she felt the soft touch of Caitlin O'Shannessy's hand resting on her own, which was supporting her weight as she leaned against the counter and she raised her eyes to find the younger woman regarding her with sympathy and understanding now.

"I once told Hawke that he and I aren't so very different," Megan smiled at Caitlin now, relieved that the younger woman seemed to be taking her words in the spirit with which they were meant.

"At the time I was talking about our similar gifts, but I guess what I really meant was that we both react the same way in certain situations. We both place the blame for failure on our own heads and we pull back from the world, hoping that if we hide away from it for long enough the world and all its pain and grief and heartache won't find us, but it always does, Caitlin. It always does."

Megan drew in a deep breath and let it out as a long, deep, regretful sigh now.

"It's too late for me, Caitlin, but there's still time for Hawke to learn that it doesn't always have to be that way, that things can be different for him, and I think that you are just the woman to show him."

Again Megan paused to draw in a refreshing breath and then regarded Caitlin O'Shannessy with steady blue gray eyes.

"I'm not the enemy, Caitlin. I don't want to fight with you. I can understand if you have a problem with my so called gift, if you don't fully understand or accept what I do, that's your right, but I really don't want to fight with you because you're afraid I'm going to steal Hawke away from you. It ain't gonna happen, Cait, so please, can we call a truce?"

Nodding mutely, tears of guilt and relief gathering in her eyes now, Caitlin O'Shannessy reached out and pulled Megan Ravenson into her arms, grateful for her honesty and forthrightness in setting the record straight, as she gave the older woman a swift, fierce hug, and both women were grinning idiotically when they pulled away from each other.

"Hawke loves me? Really?" Caitlin asked now, in a soft, shy voice.

"Yes, Caitlin, Hawke loves you. Really," Megan assured and pulled the younger woman to her in another brief hug. "Just give him time honey. It might take him a little longer to reach the same conclusion than any other regular guy, but we both know that he isn't just a regular guy, and when he does, the rewards will be worth waiting for."

After a moment, Caitlin O'Shannessy gently eased herself away from Megan Ravenson and although she could not voice the question on her lips, it was there, in her eyes, and when she realized what was on the younger woman's mind, Megan drew in a soft breath and regarded her with an understanding gaze.

"Please don't ask me what the future holds for you two, Caitlin. I don't have any answers for you. I don't make predictions, and I can't see into the future and tell you if you and Hawke get together and build a life and raise a family, but I do know that there will never be anyone else, for either of you. You've tried to love other people, both of you, but in the end, it keeps coming back to the fact that you love him and he loves you. All I can say is, be patient and listen to your heart, Caitlin, and have faith that Hawke will do the same."

Megan could see the disappointment in the younger woman's eyes, but the last thing she wanted to do was stick her neck out and say that everything would be fine and that all her dreams would come true, because Megan knew all too well that life didn't always work out that way.

No matter how badly one might want something, no matter how deeply one might love, things didn't always work out the way one might wish.

"You're just going to have to wait and see if it has a happy ever after ending, Caitlin, but, I think you two have a better chance of making it than a lot of other folks out there. Patience, honey. Patience."

Caitlin nodded almost imperceptibly and pulled Megan back into her arms for another swift embrace.

"Did you really think Hawke could be interested in me?" Megan whispered into the younger woman's ear, her tone edged with genuine amusement now as Caitlin nodded gently. "Gee, I'm really flattered, but I think I've probably got more chance with Dominic, don't you?"

Caitlin withdrew from her sharply, pulling back and regarding her with wide, curious eyes now and Megan nodded in response to the question that she could see burning in the younger woman's blue/gray eyes.

"Oh yeah," Megan confirmed with a gentle smile now. "He was interested, it was a while back, and if I am honest, for just a split second, I might have been interested too, after all he's a nice guy, smart, funny, generous, hard working, and he is probably the one man in this world who is prepared to try to understand what happens to me and how my insight works. We hit it off right away and for the first time in a long while I was able to relax and be myself around him, and it made a nice change to have someone batting for me when things got crazy or tough. It felt good. He was so sweet and attentive and supportive, it went to my head for a while, but in the end, I guess we both understood the complications that could arise from taking it further and we both decided that true friendship was more important," Megan let out a soft sigh of resignation now.

"I really love that silly old coot, and if you ever repeat what I have just told you, I will have to kill you," Megan chuckled as she watched Caitlin's face relax into a genuine smile of friendship and understanding and then felt herself being gathered back into the younger woman's arms for another swift hug.

"Friends?" they said in unison as they parted once more and then began to giggle, suddenly closer because of the shared secrets of their hearts.

"I'm glad we sorted that out," Megan reached out and gently patted Caitlin's cheek, stroking away one lone, errant, tear with her thumb. "Don't lose heart, honey. We'll find him," she assured confidently then withdrew her hand and returned her attention to making the coffee.

Working together, Megan and Caitlin made the coffee and then Megan carried the loaded tray carefully across the hangar and Caitlin held the various doors open for her as they made their way to the back office, and by the time they reached their destination both women were laughing and chatting as if they had been friends for a lifetime.

As he heard them approaching, Santini looked up from the aerial map now opened out on the desk before him, and marveled at the change in attitude between the two women as they came bustling into the office, relieved to see them both smiling and getting along, both more relaxed than they had been a few minutes before as they took their coffee mugs and came to stand around the desk, eager to get started on trying to work out their next move and where Stringfellow Hawke might have gone.

Dominic Santini could not help wondering what had gone on between them, but was silently relieved that they seemed to have settled their differences.

Earlier, when Caitlin had gone to the air traffic control tower, explaining that one of their pilots had missed a routine check in and requesting confirmation of his filed intended flight plan, along with reassurances that they had received no word of any downed aircraft in the last seventy two hours, the controller on duty had provided Caitlin with Stringfellow Hawke's posted destination in Washington State.

It was a small municipal airport with no commercial traffic, the ideal place for Hawke to tie down and gas up the Hughes 500 he had borrowed. It was close to a major highway which ran as far north as the Canadian border and south and then west making up the North Cascade Mountain Highway.

There was a lot of ground to cover, much of it treacherous mountain and wilderness, and the only clue that they had was that Hawke had told Dominic Santini that Charlie Roth lived somewhere in or near the Cascade Mountain Range.

After studying the map, Megan felt sure that Hawke had indeed made it safely to the airport, and she felt strongly that after acquiring a vehicle he had followed the highway south and then north west as it looped around the mountains.

Meg then followed his trail along the North Cascade Mountain Highway, around the Mount Baker National Forest and then lost it where the highway branched off, the eastern section skirting the Lake Ross National Recreational Area and the North Cascade National Park, and westward section passing between the territories of the Mount Baker National Forest and Mount Baker National Recreation Area.

There were several bodies of water, lakes and rivers clearly outlined in blue on the map, but Dominic Santini could not say if any one of them was the place where Charlie Roth lived.

After an hour of staring at the map and trying to get a fix on where Hawke might have gone next, desperately trying to recall the imagery of her dream and the location where she had seen the jeep go off the road and trying to fix that location on the map but having little success, Megan was getting tired and frustrated and angry with herself, and so Dominic Santini decided that it was time to call it a night.

"I'm sorry, Dom," Megan sighed wearily, running her hand roughly through her hair then rubbing her tired eyes. "It's been a long day."

"It sure has," Santini sighed too, fearing that they probably had a few more long days ahead of them before this thing was through. "Look, maybe you're working it too hard, honey," he suggested, trying to keep the disappointment and his own frustration out of his voice for Megan's sake.

She was doing her best, he knew that, but he was beginning to think that it was pointless to keep pursing it tonight. Better to look at it fresh in the morning.

"Maybe you should go home, try to relax, get some sleep?" he suggested helpfully and then found himself frowning as he watched the two women looking at each other and grinning.

"C'mon honey, I don't know about you, but I'm beat," and he wanted to call Harry Manning to find out how Muriel was doing before it got too late and his call scared the hell out of his old friend. "Why don't you let me give you a ride home and maybe in the morning we can come at this thing from a different angle?"

He pushed back from the desk and rose to his full height, carefully stretching his aching back as he turned his attention to Caitlin.

"You need a ride home too, honey?" he asked, fighting back a yawn.

"No, Dom. I'm staying."

"No you're not. You're dead on your feet and you need to go home and get a good night's sleep."

However even as he finished speaking Dominic could see the determination in Cait's face and knew that no matter what he said, sleep was the very last thing on her mind right now.

Somehow, Santini doubted that any of them would get a restful night's slumber this night, but he found himself praying that Megan might manage to snatch a few hours, at least long enough to dream and then perhaps be able to provide them with some fresh clues or a clear direction.

"Go home, honey," Santini advised solemnly now. "We can't do anything else here tonight, Cait, so go home, get some rest and come back fresh in the morning," and now his tone implied that he would brook no argument.

"Then what?"

"Then Meg and I will take the Jet Ranger up to the airfield in Washington, find the Hughes 500, see if he spoke to anyone there and told them where he was heading, and then follow Hawke's trail, see if we can't get a fix on where he went after that," Santini told her bluntly.

"And guess who gets to stay behind to baby sit the radio and the telephone? Little ol' me again," Cait groaned, giving Santini a frosty glare.

"Someone has to be here, Cait."

"Why?"

"In case Hawke should call. I know it's a long shot, honey, but someone needs to be here," Santini gave her a pointed look now that indicated to Caitlin that he was thinking of someone besides Stringfellow Hawke calling the hangar.

"Archangel," they said in unison.

"That's right. Archangel. If he calls, he has to think that everything is normal around here."

"He thinks you're on vacation, Dom," Cait reminded. "Why would he call here?"

"Because he's a sneaky, suspicious, distrusting SOB who needs to be in control and is probably just waiting for the chance to catch us out!" Santini roared then threw Caitlin and Megan an apologetic look.

"Ok, so I'm the suspicious, distrusting SOB, but if he should call, I want you here to tell him that everything is fine here. The last thing we need is him getting wind of this and sticking his oar in," but the look he threw at Caitlin spoke of his fears that the government man would explicitly refuse to allow them to use Airwolf to search for Hawke if and when they came up with a specific search area, and Dominic did not want to have to be put in the position of deliberately disobeying the man.

What Archangel didn't know wouldn't hurt any of them.

"We can handle this, you and me and Megan, and you know as well as I do that Hawke wouldn't want Archangel involved in this. We tell him if and when we don't have any other choice, capice?"

"Yeah, Dom. I get the picture," Caitlin smiled softly at Santini now, letting him know that she agreed with him, on that point at least.

"Right, that's it. I'm outta here. Anyone who needs a ride better be right on my tail. I ain't waiting for stragglers!"


	16. Chapter 16

**_Chapter Fifteen._**

_**Somewhere in Washington State.**_

_**Late evening.**_

He opened his eyes and at the same time let out a long, low moan, as again he instantly became aware of the pain pounding away at the inside of his skull.

Inhaling slowly, he allowed his eyes to roam, taking in his surroundings, which appeared to be a rustic, somewhat shabby, hand built timber construct cabin, somehow strangely familiar, and yet, somehow not.

Confused, he allowed his gaze to wander, continuing to take in his surroundings as he tried to recall where he was, how he had got here and what exactly had happened to him.

The last thing he remembered was tumbling over and over through the boughs of trees and landing with a heavy thud on his backside, rolling and then the sensation of cold wetness around his legs. After that, things got rather hazy and sketchy, except that he vaguely recalled the sensation of being dragged and the sound of unfamiliar voices.

As to who he was and what had happened to bring him here, still the answers he sought eluded him.

_**No change there then,**_ he realized with profound disappointment.

Casting his gaze around him he found himself in a large open room, lying on his back on an old and incredibly lumpy couch, staring directly up at a high vaulted ceiling, and briefly, he found himself admiring the craftsmanship of the carpenter who had created the joists and cross beams that supported the roof.

Despite the dilapidated state of the couch he realized that he was reasonably comfortable. The contours of the sagging cushions beneath him indicated that they had, on more than one occasion in the past, accommodated other human bodies in the same position and had molded themselves to the human form, although he got the impression that the most recent occupant had been someone much bigger than himself, for he appeared to be lying in a kind of hollow, supported all around by firmer bits of the cushions beneath him.

The walls of the room, constructed from thick, sturdy, hand hewn timbers, were darkened by age and unadorned by pictures, which he found strange for some reason.

He frowned, trying to work out what was wrong with what he was looking at then it came to him.

There should be lots of framed pictures. Yes, there should be paintings and photographs on all the walls.

There was also something missing.

A place for storing alcohol and various drinking glasses.

Yes, that was it. A wet bar with high wooden stools for people to sit and enjoying their drinks.

As his gaze drifted downward, he could see now that the floor consisted of naked solid timber boards, smooth and scuffed from years of wear and again he felt that that was all wrong, that there should be some kind of carpeting or rugs covering the aged floor boards.

There was a small window to his immediate right, a thick green velvet drape which fell right down to the floor, drawn across it, giving him the impression that it was evening, compounded by the fact that there was an electric lamp burning brightly on a round table in between the window and a bookcase, and again he felt that something was wrong about this arrangement.

**_Surely there should be a window seat there?_**

**_Did they have mains electricity way out here, or was the power supplied by a generator?_**

Frowning, he moved carefully into a slightly more upright position, craning his neck gingerly so that he could see what lay to his right and was surprised to find that almost filling the entire length of one wall was a rough hewn stone fireplace and chimney breast

The hearth was devoid of fire now, but he could picture the flames dancing prettily there, and suddenly the image of a dog lying on a rug, stretched out and snoozing contentedly, flashed through his mind.

A tick hound.

**_Tet._**

He vaguely recalled having heard the sound of a dog barking outside, a deep, throaty baying sound permeating the thick timber walls, but the dog's booming voice somehow did not match the picture that he had in his head.

He gave a start, frowning because although the dog was absent, the fireplace was the first thing that seemed familiar and not out of place, although, now that he stopped and thought about it, the same could not be said for the stairs located on the far side of the fireplace, the half a dozen narrow planks that formed the short, straight flight of open stairs that led to the upper level and an open length of balcony with a rail that looked back over the living area, like a gallery.

Not only was it in the wrong place, but it was entirely the wrong shape too.

**_Surely they should turn or wind to the left?_**

Twisting around carefully to look behind him, wincing as pain flashed through his upper body as he moved, he found that on the far side of the room there was also an oblong pine kitchen or dining table under another large window, positioned to get the benefit of maximum daylight and where the gallery ended there was a thick beam supporting an arch separating the ground floor rooms into two sections, the far end probably being a kitchen, he presumed.

Again, that felt all wrong to him for some reason and he lay back against the pillow for a moment, closing his eyes and emitting a soft sigh of frustration.

After a moment or two, he opened his eyes once more and continued to look around, and as the fog began to lift from his mind now, he could not help noticing all the boxes that littered the floor around the room and tried to work out if the occupier was just moving in, or was in the process of moving out.

One thing he did know for sure, wherever this was, it was not his home. There were similarities, he felt sure, but this was not where he usually lived.

He appeared to be alone, but someone had thoughtfully placed a clean warm, sweet smelling hand stitched patchwork quilt over him and slipped a fat pillow encased in cool, crisp white cotton, beneath his head.

He lifted the top edge of the quilt and peeked underneath it, relieved to find that he was still wearing his street clothes, then wondered what he had been expecting to find and why it mattered so much to him.

He forced himself to relax and tried to call to mind the last thing that he remembered clearly.

Things began to come back to him, slowly, recalling now how he had woken up to find himself lying on the hard wooden floor, looking into the pretty face of a woman with dark sapphire blue eyes and shoulder length chestnut brown hair.

Bridget.

He remembered now.

She had called herself Bridget and she had been kind, helping him to his feet and supporting him as he staggered rubber legged across the living room to the couch.

He recalled now that she hadn't asked a lot of questions or made a fuss, instead she had made a joke as she had left him to get his breath back and regain his equilibrium.

He vaguely recalled that he had relaxed back against the soft cushions of the couch and closed his eyes, trying to gather his wits and work out what had happened to him and guessed that at some point, he must have drifted off again.

He recalled vaguely opening his eyes once more to find a child of about nine or maybe ten years old standing beside him. A blue eyed and caramel haired cherub, watching him with curiosity and a wary expression on his dirt smeared face.

He also recalled that the woman had returned at that moment and had introduced the unusually quite and thoughtful child as Kenny, and then she had shooed the youngster away, dispatching him to go and wash his hands and face and tidy himself up ready for dinner.

After that, everything became vague and fragmented.

He pictured the woman standing over him with a small white plastic box with a red cross stenciled across the top of it, opening it carefully, revealing plasters and bandages and sticking tape and various tubes and bottles of anti septic and ointments, allowing him to see the contents too as she checked them over, and then she had closed the box, set it down carefully on the floor and had disappeared into the adjoining room, and then everything was a blank, and he surmised that he must have lost consciousness again.

However he felt slightly reassured that the woman meant to try to help him, not hurt him.

Suddenly, he heard the sound of water running into something metallic, and the knocking and clanging protestations of the aged plumbing, shortly followed by the sound of various cupboards being opened and closed and realized that she must be working in the kitchen.

At the sound of the running water, he also suddenly became aware of an unusually heavy sensation in his lower abdomen and realized that he needed to use the bathroom.

A few minutes later the woman returned to the living room bearing an enamel bowl of water and a couple of freshly laundered towels and as she set the things down carefully on the floor beside the couch and squatted down beside him, looking at him with a critical eye, she must have realized from his pained and embarrassed expression that something was not right, mistaking the look on his face as one of pain or discomfort, because a frown suddenly marred her brow.

"What's wrong?" she immediately asked with genuine concern.

"Bathroom?" he overcame his reticence and embarrassment to ask.

"Oh! Yeah, sure. Its upstairs," she suddenly grew flustered and rose swiftly, almost jumping to her feet as she began frantically looking around for something.

A loud clattering noise on the other side of the room heralded the return of the child, hurtling down the stairs, wiping still damp hands down the outside of his pants legs, and immediately the woman, Bridget, looked relieved.

"Kenny! C'm'ere," she beckoned the curious child to her and when he joined her she moved him in front her, lightly placing her hands on the child's shoulders as she returned her attention to her visitor, addressing him over the child's head.

"Kenny can give you a hand, that's if you think you can make it."

"Sure. I'll be fine," he assured her quickly, relieved that she had made the suggestion because it would be far less embarrassing for both of them, and she _**was**_ embarrassed, he could tell from the crimson color creeping into her previously pale cheeks and for some reason, he found that rather endearing.

Despite his reassurances, as he tried to sit up, even before he got as far as swinging his legs over the edge of the couch, his stomach flip-flopped against his spine and the room tipped up and span violently before his eyes.

"Hey, take it easy!" Bridget exclaimed, instinctively reaching out to steady him but he gently pushed her hand out of the way, dredging up some semblance of male pride, and ego, not wanting to appear weak in front of the boy, he forced himself to rise and perch on the edge of the couch, panting raggedly and blinking rapidly as he tried to focus his eyes once more.

"I'm ok," he assured her once more, in a rough, low, breathy voice, but could see from the expression on her face that she was not convinced.

However she decided against challenging him and instead gave the boy a gentle nudge forward, encouraging him to offer his arm to the stranger, who despite his assurances that he was ok remained seated, breathless and obviously feeling far from well.

He swallowed down the nausea and bile rising in the back of his throat as he waited for the world to stop rocking and tipping wildly before his eyes, one thought paramount in his mind. There was no way that he was going to have this woman escort him to the bathroom.

Sick or not, that was one embarrassment that he was not prepared to endure.

If he could get there under his own steam, all well and good, but if not, having the child's help was infinitely more acceptable to him than having the woman hold his hand all the way.

"Kenny, please show mister …. Err, show our guest to the bathroom and make sure that he has everything that he needs."

"Sure thing, Midge," the child responded excitedly, obviously pleased to be included in this unexpected little adventure and totally oblivious to the murderous look that she was suddenly shooting in his direction at his slip of the tongue.

However, the stranger had obviously immediately picked up on the different name the child had used to address her and he was frowning up at her now, confusion evident in his very blue eyes.

"Midge?" he asked, quirking an eyebrow, wondering why it was that the boy hadn't called her Mother or Mom or Mommy or Momma.

"It's a long story. Maybe I'll tell you some time," she answered in mildly irritated tones but he could tell from the expression that crossed her face that she had silently completed that sentence with _'and maybe I won't'_ and then she returned her attention to the boy. "Wait for mister …."

Her voice had trailed off and she gave her guest an apologetic look, to which he responded with a careful, half hearted shrug, before returning her gaze to the child.

"Wait for the gentleman and then help him back here, and for heaven's sake Kenny, be careful," she gave the boy a warning look then as he reached out for the man's hand, eager to help.

"You too," she allowed those deep, sapphire blue eyes to once again rest on the stranger's face as she addressed him now. "I think you've done enough sky diving for one day."

"Yes ma'am," he concurred gruffly, her meaning clear and he found himself in complete agreement, as he allowed himself a wry, half smile.

Somehow, with a great deal of help from the boy, he made it up the stairs to the small, drafty, but functional bathroom on the upper level, without incident and without totally embarrassing himself, and after relieving himself he spent several uncomfortable minutes hanging over the sink, fighting back nausea and occasionally catching glimpses of a face he did not recognize in the mirror fronted cabinet on the wall over the sink.

The face he saw reflected back at him was pleasant, pale beneath a honey gold tan, with strong, chiseled features and slightly red rimmed sky blue eyes with enlarged black pupils, but no matter how hard he stared, studying the pleasant arrangement of nose, eyes and mouth, furrowed brow marred by a smear of blood from a recently opened cut over his left eyebrow, the man who stared back at him was a stranger.

_**Who are you?**_

_**Where do you come from?**_

He was deeply shocked for he had felt sure that he would recognize his own face when he saw it, and from that, be able to put a name to it, but the face that was reflected back at him meant nothing to him at all.

Finally, in response to Kenny's soft knocking on the door and his anxious, thin and high pitched voice calling out to him, asking if he was all right, he dragged himself away from the mirror image staring blankly back at him and opened the bathroom door.

Pinning a false, reassuring smile on his face, he allowed the boy to slide his stick thin arm around his waist. Silently he was immensely grateful for the young man's support.

It was hard and painful work, and he tried not to lean too heavily against Kenny's slender body for fear of hurting him or causing him to lose his balance, which in turn would send them both flying, as together they slowly and cautiously made their way back down the narrow landing and down the sturdy wooden steps to the living room.

The woman, Bridget, was nowhere to be seen, the bowl of water gone from the floor beside the couch, probably so that he would not knock it over when he returned.

If he was honest with himself, he was relieved that she wasn't around to see just how rocky and unsteady he was on his feet, cursing silently when his rubbery legs threatened to let him down and he stumbled, just before they reached the couch.

Somehow he managed to stagger the last couple of feet and then he collapsed heavily down on to the couch with a loud, expressive groan which immediately sent the boy darting from the room, in the direction of the kitchen, where, and as the darkness once again began to creep inward from the corners of his eyes, he could hear the sounds of someone working, his last conscious thought before succumbing to the void of darkness, that he hoped that he hadn't hurt Kenny by leaning on him so hard, or that his passing out like this hadn't scared the child too much.

0-0-0-0

_**Caitlin O'Shannessy's apartment,**_

_**Los Angeles, California.**_

"Do you think we should tell Le Van?" Caitlin's voice was small and sorrowful as she voiced the question, filling the darkness and the silence that had swallowed her self and Dominic Santini as they sat in the Santini Air Jeep outside her apartment building, neither one of them quite ready to leave the other and face the rest of this long and uncertain night alone.

Santini had taken Megan Ravenson home first, escorting her to her door and kissing her lightly on her cheek as he bid her good night, and sweet dreams, and then he had returned to the Jeep and driven to Cait's apartment in silence.

Santini turned is head now and regarded her with steady dark eyes, and the expression on his face was all the answer Caitlin needed.

"I guess not. We wouldn't want to scare the little guy. He's been through so much already," she emitted a soft sigh, recalling how the Amerasian boy had come into Hawke's life just before Christmas, and that there was a very real possibility that he was Saint John Hawke's son.

Caitlin knew that it had been a particularly difficult time, for Dominic Santini, but especially Stringfellow Hawke, for the child's guardian at the time, Darren McBride had tried to persuade Hawke that his brother was dead and that his remains had been discovered and were being shipped back to the States.

For so long, Hawke had clung to the belief that his older brother was still alive, and that one day he would find him and bring him home, but McBride had been so convincing when he told String about how he had known Sinjin, how they had worked together in the Special Operations Group, and how he had watched his good friend die, and for the first time in all the years since Sinjin had gone missing, Stringfellow had finally made it to the point where he had to accept that his brother was gone and that it was time to move on and make a new life for himself.

McBride had come to him with some story about missing American soldier's remains having been found and that they were being shipped back to the States, and that Sinjin's remains were part of that shipment.

However, it had turned out to be a cruel hoax, a cover for bringing drugs into the country. Hawke had discovered the truth but not without a great deal of heartache first, and in characteristic fashion, he had dealt out his own brand of punishment to McBride.

The one good thing that had come out of the whole debacle had been Le Van, and the effect the boy had had on Stringfellow Hawke.

They were still getting to know each other, Le Van continuing to live with his Aunt Minh, but they spent as much time as they could together when work and the boy's school schedule allowed, and Hawke had declared his intention to adopt the boy when he was ready, even if it turned out that he wasn't Sinjin's son.

The boy was part of 'the family' now and they had all grown to like him and love him.

"That's right," Santini agreed, reaching out to pat her knee gently now. "Are you good with Megan now?"

"Sure, Dom," Caitlin smiled back at him now, the light from a nearby streetlight illuminating her face and making her eyes twinkle. "How you holding up?" she asked with genuine concern now.

"I'm ok, Cait. Honest," he reassured her. "I told you once I have my own radar where Hawke is concerned, and I'd know if he'd dropped off the scope. I don't feel anything like that, Cait. Sure, I'm worried about him, but nothing I've heard so far makes me think he's gone. Besides, Megan wouldn't lie to us, to me. She would have told me if he was dead, Cait, so relax will ya. How are you doing?"

"Oh Dom," her voice cracked and she hung her head briefly, hiding her sorrow and doubt from the older man, for just a moment, then she raised her face and gazed back at him forlornly, in that split second deciding that she needed to confide in him how she really was feeling

"You were right, back there, Dom," she gave a soft sigh as she tried valiantly to pin a smile on her lips, but failed miserably. "I do love him," she drew in a swift, deep breath and then expelled it as a deep sigh.

"What I mean is, I'm _**in **_love with him," she clarified in a sorrowful voice. "But I don't know if he's in love with me, and I don't know if I can go on, knowing that he can never feel that way about me," she confessed raggedly, tears suddenly sparkling in her eyes.

"I don't know what to tell you, Cait, really, I don't. I've known him a long time, and I know what he's been through, every time he forgets this crazy idea that he has about being jinxed and allows himself to care again. He ain't made of stone, you know that, but it is a hard habit to break, protecting himself, and I guess, protecting anyone else who might just get close enough to matter."

"That's what Megan said," Caitlin confided now.

"And what else did she say?" Santini arched an eyebrow in curiosity.

"That maybe I needed to be the strong one, and to show him that he's wrong, just by being there and showing him that I can take care of myself and that I don't need him to keep me alive."

"There you go, then."

"He's just so darn stubborn, Dom. He get's an idea into his head and there's no shaking him."

"Sounds like someone else I know," Santini cut in and chuckled now. "He's not stupid, Caitlin, or blind," he grew serious again and regarded her sympathetically.

"He knows how you feel, hell honey, no matter how hard you try, you haven't made a very good job of hiding it," Santini smiled benignly at her now and again patted her knee.

"He knows, Cait. He knows what is in your heart, and I'm not saying that deep down, he don't feel the same for you, but I guess you just have to wait for him to make up his mind one way or the other, if he's willing to take one more chance, or if it's better to keep things the way that they are between you," he paused to draw in a breath, watching fat tears spill over from her lashes and trickle down her lovely face and his heart went out to her.

He wasn't a stranger to unrequited love. He had cared for many women over the years, but had always had to accept that they did not care for him in quite the same way.

He knew all too well the kind of pain Caitlin had been nursing all this time, loving Hawke but feeling that she had to hide it from him for fear of scaring him off and spoiling their friendship.

However, he had always been a firm believer that the truth will out, and the truth of what was in her heart where Stringfellow Hawke was concerned was clear to see in her every word and deed, and he knew that Hawke had to have seen it too.

"And if that is what he decides, honey, then I guess you're the one who is going to have to chose, whether his brotherly love and friendship are enough, or if you'd be better off cutting your loses and walking away. Whatever happens, Caitlin, I know he wouldn't like to think that he had hurt you. Maybe that's why he hasn't offered you any encouragement? Maybe he thinks that that is the best way not to hurt you, by letting you think that he's a stupid dumb blind fool who can't see what's going on right under his nose, that way he can still have you close and not have to constantly be looking over his shoulder," he reasoned gently now.

"But hey, man cannot live by bread alone, right?" he grinned now, wanting to lighten the mood a little between them now. "You never know with Hawke. He might just surprise you yet."

"Right now Dom, I'd settle for seeing him smile," she told him, dashing away her tears now.

"Me too, and for the record, hon, he's been doing a darn sight more of that since you showed up around here," Santini gave her a meaningful wink now and then they were both smiling.

"Go on, get out of here. Get a good night's sleep. I'm picking Megan up early in the morning but there's no need for you to get to the hangar that early," he leaned across and planted a swift, dry kiss to her cheek.

"And quit worrying will ya. We'll find him, and then you two will just have to let nature take it's course, only don't take too darn long about it, none of us is getting any younger ya know and I wanna enjoy my grand kids while I still can."

"Grand children? How many do you want, Dom?" Caitlin asked with a hint of amusement in her voice now, genuinely touched that he could see her as the mother of his grandchildren.

The mother of Stringfellow Hawke's children.

It told her a lot about what he really believed Hawke's feelings for her were and she felt a little more reassured.

"At least two, so you'd better get a move on, kid!"

"We'll see about that. G'night, Dom," she leaned across and kissed him lightly on the cheek too and was smiling softly to herself as she knuckled away the last of her tears as she turned away from him to open the door, then slid out of the Jeep and walked around the front to stand on the sidewalk beside the driver's door.

"You be careful, ya hear?" she leaned in and cupped his dear old face with her hand, giving him a more confident smile, then turned on her heel and walked the short distance to the street door of her apartment building.

"Night, Cait," Santini called out to her then watched her disappear inside before putting the Jeep into gear and guiding it back out into the flow of traffic.


	17. Chapter 17

**_Chapter Sixteen._**

_**Somewhere in Washington State,**_

_**Later that same night.**_

His eyes fluttered open once more and after blinking them rapidly several times to clear the blur, he focused at last on his surroundings. Almost immediately memories of where he was and what had happened came flooding back to him.

_**Maybe that was a good sign,**_ he found himself thinking as he remembered the jaunt up to the bathroom with the boy, Kenny, and that that was the last thing he remembered before the darkness had reclaimed him, and he assumed that he must have passed out again.

The physical exertion required to make the trip to the bathroom had obviously been too much for his weak, ailing body.

However, it seemed now that he could retain short term memories.

_**Did that mean that eventually he might be able to remember further back?**_

_**Let's see what else you can remember, pal. It's worth a try.**_

Now, he closed his eyes once more and allowed his head to settle back against the fat pillow which was helping to prop him up a little higher against the arm of the couch.

He tried to focus his thoughts, dredging his memory for something familiar, but no matter how hard he tried, all he could come up with was a big black emptiness where his life had been.

_**Who am I**__**?**_

The question kept repeating in his head over and over.

_**What is my**__** name? Where do I come from? Where do I live? What do I do for a living?**_

_**Do I**__** have any family?**_

_**A wife?**_

Who were those two women that he had remembered, briefly, the previous night?

_**Cait.**_

When he had opened his eyes, when he had found the woman lying beside him, he recalled now, that he had said the word Cait.

_**A name?**_

_**Yes, it felt like a name.**_

_**A woman's name.**_

_**But which one of them did it belong to?**_

_**Which one of them was Cait, and what was she to him?**_

He squeezed his eyes tightly shut and tried to picture her face, but again there was nothing and so he let out a deep sigh of frustration and disappointment.

If he could just find one thing that he remembered then he felt sure that everything else would fall into place.

One piece of the puzzle.

That was all it would take.

Questions. So many questions, and no readily available answers to satisfy his curiosity.

He silently conceded that trying to force the memories to the surface was only making them more elusive, and making his headache more intense, so he allowed his body to relax, sinking down further into the soft cushions beneath him, trying to ignore the incessant pounding inside his skull and told him self that it wasn't all bad.

He was alive, and, so it seemed, despite the various aches and pains flooding through his body, not too badly injured, but more importantly, he seemed to have found a caring, compassionate and trusting soul, willing to take in an injured stranger and offer him sanctuary.

Perhaps after a good night's rest and something to eat and drink, when his body had had time to recover, his memory would be restored too.

As he lay quietly, dozing once more, he was suddenly aware of the soft thudding sound of footsteps coming down the stairs and he opened his eyes once more to find the woman, Bridget, making her way down the last couple of steps of the wooden staircase and glancing over in his direction.

He noticed that since the last time he had seen her she had changed her clothes, recalling that the others had been dusty and dirty, no doubt from dragging him through the forest. She had donned clean, sensible denim blue jeans and now she had pulled a thick flannel black and red checkered shirt on over a black turtle neck sweater.

The shirt was far too big for her and obviously designed for a man, but its size allowed her to do up a couple of buttons between her bust and the waistband of her jeans and then tie the tails in a loose knot just above the button securing her jeans. He also noticed that she was wearing soft flat black leather pumps on her feet.

As soon as she realized that he was awake, a genuine smile of relief lit up her whole face and she walked directly over to him.

"Hi there. How are you feeling?"

"Like I collided with a mountain."

When he spoke, he was surprised by the deep, gruff quality of the sound that he produced from the back of his throat, realizingat the same time that it was hot and dry and that he was thirsty.

"Do you think I could have a glass of water, please?" he asked politely, frowning when his voice remained thick and deep and groggy.

"Of course. Just a little though," she readily agreed, turning on her heel to walk into the kitchen, just off the main living area. He heard water running, the pipe work rattling and banging in protest once more and then she was coming back with a small tumbler of crystal clear water.

"Take small sips," she advised as she carefully handed him the glass. "I'm just concerned that you might get sick," she responded to the odd look on his face when he struggled to sit up a little more and then reached out to take the glass from her.

"Look, buddy, I'm no doctor, but you've had a nasty bang on the head, and I do know that that means you might have a concussion," she explained, and he suddenly recalled that he had thought the same thing himself, the first time he had awakened out there on the mountain.

"I'm guessing that you're head is pounding like a jack hammer right now, you're having trouble focusing and I know you were feeling sick before, so sip the water slowly and if you manage to keep that down, then I guess we'll both know that you don't have a concussion after all," she smiled gently at him and nodded encouragement as he raised the glass to his lips and took a sip of the cold, refreshing water.

Bridget didn't know if he kept passing out because of the head injury, or if it was because he hadn't had anything to eat or drink in a while. However, until she ruled out the possibility of a concussion, she wasn't going to risk loading him up with a substantial meal only to have him get sick.

"What happened?" he asked, when after taking another small sip of water she reached out to take the glass from him and placed it on the floor, still within his reach, and then took a step back from him.

"Where's the boy?" he asked, genuinely concerned that he might have scared the child with his crashing down on to the couch like that and passing out.

"You keeled over," Bridget told him without preamble. "I guess the trip upstairs was more than you could handle. You passed out on the couch, and Kenny came to fetch me."

She didn't tell him that the child had panicked, terrified that the man had dropped dead before his eyes, and after reassuring Kenny that their visitor had simply passed out once more, and having him help her to get the stranger comfortable on the couch, she had decided to distract her nephew by feeding him dinner and making him follow his usual bed time routine.

"I decided to let you be for a while, made you as comfortable as I could and then I fixed dinner for us. It was hard work getting you here and Kenny was ravenous," she grinned now, recalling how he had bolted down the boiled egg and toast that she had set before him, after making him go back upstairs to wash his hands and face once more, properly this time, and to run a comb through his unruly hair, and then how he had then savored every glorious mouthful of the gooey banana split she had set before him for dessert.

"He would never admit it of course, but he was exhausted too. I just finished putting him to bed. Safe to say he wasn't happy about it," again she smiled, indicating that whilst he had put up a token fight, within a few minutes of his head hitting the pillow, Kenny had gone out like a light.

Bridget was relieved that he hadn't made a real fight out of it, counting herself fortunate that tonight she had managed to persuade him to forgo his make shift den in the attic space, where they had spent the first night she had been here, cuddled up together because he could not face sleeping in his own room which was right next door to his father's now empty bedroom, and where he had insisted on spending the subsequent nights, alone, despite her attempts to cajole him back to his own bed.

Bridget had made no comment, but suspected that Kenny's decision to return to his own bed this night was because he wanted to be closer to her, now that there was another male presence in the house and he wanted to be nearby should she need him in the night.

Bridget was deeply touched by his sensitivity and his concern for her welfare and was silently glad that he would be spending the night in his own bed at last because sleeping in the attic was a habit that she could not afford for him to cultivate for she wanted him back into some semblance of a normal routine, ready for when she took him back to her house and they began their new life together.

"Thank you. For helping me."

"Don't trouble yourself, mister. I'd do as much for a stray dog. Look, I can't keep calling you mister. Do you remember your name now?"

"No," he admitted on a deep sigh of frustration.

"Do you remember anything at all?" she regarded him with a worried expression now.

"No."

"Ok, give yourself time. You look like you've been through a lot. Maybe when you feel a bit more comfortable and rested it will all come back to you."

"Maybe," he conceded on a ragged sigh. "What time is it?" he asked, recalling now that while he had been familiarizing himself with his surroundings he hadn't seen any sign of a clock anywhere.

"It's coming up to ten in the evening. You've been out for more than two hours," she told him, trying to hide her real concern that his head injury was more serious than they both knew.

Memory loss, headache, trouble focusing his eyes, nausea, they all indicated to Bridget that he had had more than just a gentle bump on the head, and that she could be in for a troubled and uncomfortable night tending to him if the symptoms persisted.

She had already decided that if he wasn't better by morning, she would seriously have to consider putting out a radio call for a home visit from Dr Brunswick, or at least get some advice on how to deal with the situation.

Dr Harlan Brunswick was a feisty old curmudgeon who lived on the other side of Honesty. He had no competition and had been doctoring folks around these parts since Adam was a lad and had seen practically every ailment and injury known to man.

He might not like being disturbed, but he would give her sound advice on what to do to make the patient comfortable until he could get there, if that was what he thought it required.

As the only doctor for miles around, Brunswick had been called to take a look at George Goodwin after the fire, although everyone knew that it was a formality, as there was nothing more that could be done except to pronounce him dead, and although he had been brusque and businesslike throughout most of the visit, as he had been about to leave, noticing how pale, withdrawn and quiet Kenny was and diagnosing shock, for once he had dropped the curt, wily old country doctor act and had been kind and patient and sympathetic with her, telling her to give him a call if she was in the slightest bit worried about the boy.

"C'mon, let's get you cleaned up," she smiled softly at him now, not wanting to telegraph her fears about his health to her visitor. "I'm sure you'll feel better when I've patched you up and got you into some clean clothes. Think you can handle that?"

He found himself nodding in response to her question, although the prospect of fighting his way out of his clothes and discovering the true extent of his injuries as he went along filled him with trepidation. However, he knew that it had to be done.

"Need some help?" she offered, reaching out now to pull down the top edge of the quilt, but withdrew her hand swiftly when she noticed the scowl clouding his features and the tightening of his fingertips around the top edge.

"I can manage," he told her in a gruff voice. "Thank you," he added a little more politely when she arched an eyebrow cynically and then glowered at her when he saw that she was struggling to suppress a smile.

"Ok. We'll do it your way. For now," Bridget told him, unable to hide the amusement dancing in her dark eyes, and then she turned on her heel and walked back across the room without a backward glance.

As soon as she had left the living room, disappearing into what he was now sure was the kitchen; slowly and carefully he maneuvered himself up into a sitting position, relieved when he found that he wasn't quite so dizzy or nauseous this time around.

Feeling a little more confident and hopeful, he moved the pretty quilt out of his way and slowly swung his legs out over the edge of the couch and positioned himself so that he was now sitting upright on the edge of one cushion.

Breathless, and wincing as he felt the first indication of real pain, in his side, knee, ankle, wrist and shoulder, his head pounding, he worked on getting his breath back and building up the nerve to start removing his clothes, as he listened to Bridget work in the kitchen, running the water again and opening and closing cupboard doors.

Once he got some of his breath back he used stiff fingers to work at opening the front of his leather jacket, silently assessing his condition as he did so.

He ached all over, numerous muscles protesting at the rough treatment they had received out there on the mountain, and he still felt more than a little groggy, but when he tried to shrug out of the jacket at last, excruciating pain immediately shot through his upper body, radiating out from a point on the right side of his chest and upward and outward from his right shoulder, slicing through him and robbing him of breath.

Immediately he stopped struggling to release his arm from the sleeve of his jacket, perspiration beading on his brow as he gasped for breath and tried not to gag. He suddenly felt so dizzy and light headed he felt sure that he was about to pass out again, and he could feel himself falling forward, but was powerless to stop himself.

It was at that moment that Bridget emerged from the kitchen bearing the same enamel bowl he had seen earlier, the first aid box under her armpit and two freshly laundered towels, one slung over her left shoulder, the other over her right forearm.

Realizing the situation immediately Bridget swiftly took a slight detour to the large pine table on the opposite side of the room and careful not to spill the contents of the bowl over herself, having filled it with freshly boiled water from the kettle and cooled it down a little with cold water from the tap, before adding a liberal dash of pine scented anti septic, she deposited the bowl, first aid box and towels on the table beside a pile of neatly folded men's clothes, and then she came hurrying toward him, arms out ready to stop his imminent nose dive off the couch.

As she drew closer she could see the pain etched into his face and realized that he was looking considerably paler than when she had left him a few minutes before. He was breathing through clenched teeth, eyes over bright with unshed tears of pain and perspiration was soaking the baby fine brown hair of his fringe.

She reached him just as he was about to slide off the edge of the couch onto his knees and dropping quicky to her knees before him, cushioned his impact against her chest, wrapping her right arm gently around his upper body as she used her body weight to push him backward slightly, forcing him upright again.

When she was sure that he wasn't going to fall again she moved back from him and could clearly see that he was fighting to quell nausea and dizziness and she feared that he was on the verge of losing consciousness again.

**_Maybe she was right to be so anxious about that head injury after all, and maybe she shouldn't wait until morning to make that call to Dr Brunswick either._**

"It's ok, take your time," she advised him gently, moving back in front of him and watching as he continued to suck in breaths through his clenched teeth, blinking rapidly as though he was finding it hard to focus eyes that she could now see were red rimmed and a bright cornflower blue and welling with tears which overflowed and slipped down his rugged cheeks.

"Ready to let me help you now?" she asked in a soft voice, deliberately devoid of accusation or judgment. "Please?" she prompted when she saw a brief flicker of resistance in his eyes as he dropped his head, concentrating on filling his starving lungs and trying not to throw up.

He conceded that he was too weak and in too much pain to do the job by him self and that it was pointless and childish to offer even the slightest physical resistance, after all, what was the alternative?

She only had to wait for him to pass out again and would then probably have to resort to cutting his clothes off him, and that was the last thing he wanted.

He had a feeling that he was rather fond of the leather jacket, and the last thing he wanted was her hacking at it to get it off him.

Slowly, he raised his head and fixing her with a steady, appealing gaze, nodded his acquiescence at last.

Bridget nodded in understanding and watched as he drew in a deep, rather unsteady breath, through his nose, pain still pinching his handsome features as he prepared himself for the next onslaught of pain and nausea, and tried to work out how she was going to free him of the leather encumbrance without hurting him even more.

Once it was undone, the jacket proved to be quite roomy, but no matter how she looked at it, Bridget realized that there was no easy way to get it off him, and that it was probably going to hurt like the devil in the process.

"I'm sorry," she told him by way of preparing him for what she feared was to come, but the expression on his face told her that he already knew what to expect and that he wanted it over and done with quickly, so she reached out for the elasticized cuff at the end of one sleeve with one hand and with the other tried to make room at the shoulder so that he could ease his arm out.

He caught on quickly, realizing what she was intending to do and between them, slowly and carefully they managed to release first one arm, then the other, but by the end of it, they were both breathless.

His face was ashen and running with perspiration and his eyes were rolling as he pitched forward once more, collapsing into her arms with a deep moan of pain as she discarded the jacket and automatically opened her arms to receive him.

Bridget again absorbed his weight, grateful once more that he wasn't a big, heavy man, as George had been, allowing his chin to rest on her shoulder as he sucked in rapid, shallow breaths and she found her arm automatically coming up and around him, cradling him against her as she held on to him gently, comforting him silently.

Bridget knew that they weren't done yet, but she suspected that the worst of it was over.

Thank God, for she doubted that he would be able to tolerate much more.

The pale blue cotton shirt would be easier to remove, once she opened the buttons at the cuffs and collar and loosened it from the waistband of his pants and belt she could reach behind him and grab the bottom seam then pull it up and over his head like a sweater, and then gently ease the sleeves down his arms. The pants would obey the rules of gravity and drop to his ankles when he stood, once she unbuckled the belt and released the button and zipper.

As she held on to him, Bridget was all too keenly aware of the heat of his body radiating through the thin material of his shirt, warming her arms and chest. She also realized that she had been right about his physique.

He was slight, but solidly built, lean and muscular and hard, not soft and flabby, and now she could feel the heat of embarrassment creeping into her cheeks as she caught her wayward thoughts and realized that her heart was beating just that little bit faster in her breast.

_**For heaven's sake woman, the man still has his shirt on and your blood pressure just shot up!**_ She chastised herself sternly, suddenly realizing just how long it had been since she had been this up close and personal with any man and that she was way out of practice, and felt even more heat suffusing into her cheeks.

_**Oh for crying out loud woman! Get a grip!**_

_**If you're like this when he's still dressed, what are you going to be like when you get to taking his pants off!**_

_**This is ridiculous, kiddo. You're a grown woman, now pull yourself together and help the poor man!**_

She realized that he had suddenly gone limp in her arms and that his warm, steady breath was fanning her shoulder and neck, and she began to worry that he had indeed passed out once more when suddenly he emitted another soft moan, and eased himself back out from her body, obviously having just realized that no matter how tired he was and how blissful it would be to just close his eyes and abandon himself to sleep, they weren't through yet.

"I'm sorry buddy, but the sooner we get you out of these clothes, the quicker we can make you comfortable," she told him quickly, trying to cover her embarrassment and her wayward thoughts.

"Just do it," he ground out through clenched teeth, beyond arguing with her.

He just wanted it over.

"I think we got the hardest part over," she told him in a thick voice and as his eyes began to focus a little better, he could see that her cheeks were again aflame with heat and color, and he realized that she was as embarrassed about this as he was.

If he didn't know better he would think that she hadn't had much to do with men, in any state of undress, but that was a ridiculous notion, after all, she had the child, and he doubted that the stork had simply dropped by and left him under a gooseberry bush.

_**Wait a minute, why are **_you_** so darned embarrassed about stripping off in front of her, if you have **_two_** women in your life? **_He found himself thinking then swiftly told himself that that was different.

He knew those women, they had a history, or at least he supposed they did, and that he probably felt comfortable with them at the very least. It was different if you cared for someone and trusted someone and they cared for and trusted in you in return.

Bridget was a stranger, and no-one liked taking their clothes off in front of strangers, he reasoned, and he felt very strongly that whilst he was not ashamed of his body and found nothing embarrassing in nudity, he wasn't an exhibitionist either.

There was such a thing as modesty, and for both of their sakes, he intended to keep his.

Suddenly, they were look at each other shyly, both realizing the absurdity of it and then they were grinning bashfully at each other, until suddenly Bridget began to giggle, embarrassed and flustered all at the same time, emitting a soft gurgling sound, pleasant and pitched quite low, whilst at the same time, he too became aware of a soft rumbling sound emanating from deep inside his chest, and suddenly he let out a splutter of laughter too.

He immediately regretted it because the pain that accompanied the chuckle sliced through his torso and suddenly he was gasping and wincing and trying not to laugh, holding on to his side with one hand and the cushion alongside him with the other hand as he fought not to slip off the edge of the couch.

"Please, don't make me laugh," he protested between chuckling and groaning, unable to smother another grin as he watched Bridget's dark eyes dancing with amusement and tears of mirth gathering there. "It hurts too much," he confessed, yet despite what he had just said, let out another giggle.

"I'm sorry. You're right," she made a concerted effort to pull herself together, but she was still grinning from ear to ear, hiding her embarrassment and knuckling away a warm tear as it slid down her overheated cheek, whilst silently acknowledging to herself that it was probably what they had needed to break the ice.

They were both too old to be acting like shy nervous teens, and in truth, there really was nothing to be embarrassed about.

"It is kind of silly, after all, we're both adults," she conceded, clearing her throat and knuckling away another tear, but she was still smiling at him and her cheeks were still aflame with heat and color.

As he regarded her, admiring the beautiful blush on her cheek and trying to recall the last time he had seen a woman genuinely blush like that, it suddenly occurred to him that perhaps she was uncomfortable about this whole situation because she feared that her husband might return at any minute and get the wrong idea about what was really going on.

Maybe the humor was to cover genuine fear.

As the thought flashed through his mind, anxious that his being here might cause her real trouble, his found his gaze drifting to her left hand and settling on the unadorned third finger. No wedding band, he noted with mild curiosity, and no indentation or tan line to indicate that she might ever have worn one.

"We can be sensible about this, can't we?" she was asking now, and she had such an earnest and innocent expression on her face, he decided that he had no right to ask the questions that were suddenly burning in his brain.

Immediately, he realized that he was indeed a very lucky man, and just how courageous Bridget really was in taking him in and looking after him. Life out here could not be easy for a woman alone with a child, and she was taking an awful risk in bringing him into her home.

He was immensely grateful for her courage and her trust, and realized that the least that he could do was co-operate and try to make this whole situation easier on her.

"And at least we know that you haven't broken your funny bone!" she chuckled at her own joke and he found himself smiling tolerantly back at her as he could not stop himself from thinking wryly that with this amount of pain radiating through his whole body, it was perhaps the only bone he hadn't broken.

"Shall we get on?" she asked, pulling her self together now, and regarded him sympathetically. She had seen the strange, serious little expression that had crossed his face a few seconds before and wondered where his thoughts were leading him.

Had he remembered something, or was he speculating about her situation here?

She suddenly remembered the fear that had gripped her when she had seen him lying there at Kenny's feet and her suspicions that he might be faking being unconscious so that he could wheedle his way into her home, and that at that same moment she had realized just how vulnerable she and Kenny really were out here in the back of beyond.

She had no doubts now that he was trying to con her. He was genuinely hurting, no one could fake the look of anguish and agony she could see in his eyes and pinching his handsome, rugged features, but she and Kenny were still vulnerable, and the last thing she wanted was this stranger realizing that, and trying to use it to his advantage. After all, she had no idea yet what kind of man he was.

Yes, he had a handsome, kindly face and good manners, but then again, she suspected that Jack the Ripper had probably been quite charming too, otherwise why would all those women have trusted him and allowed him to lure them to their gruesome deaths!

_**Enough, now you're letting your imagination work over time! **_

_**It's**__** way too late to be regretting offering him help and you have no reason to expect that he will throw that trust back in your face. **_

_**Hell woman, there's nothing here worth stealing and he's hardly in the position to try anything on with you, so get a hold of yourself and get on with making him comfortable!**_

Swallowing down her doubts and suspicions, she regarded him once more. His eyebrows were drawn together now, as though he were contemplating the wisdom of continuing to remove his clothing. She could not help wondering if he was feeling exposed and vulnerable too, that perhaps he was just now realizing what a lucky escape he had had and that he was a mere mortal after all.

She could only guess at just how much pain he was experiencing and that whilst their brief outburst of laughter would have flooded his body with all those nice hormones that those scientists in the know were always saying made one feel uplifted, that would soon wear off.

"Well?" she prompted at last, forcing all negative thoughts from her mind and concentrating on the task ahead.

At first, his only response was a strange twisting of his top lip, an indication of his obvious distaste at the thought of further pain and discomfort, but then he was giving her a weak, lopsided smile of acknowledgement of the inevitable, and she reached out and gently patted his knee, smiling at him reassuringly at the same time.

"Be gentle with me," he teased her now, drawing in as deep breaths as he could manage without causing himself too much pain, and gritted his teeth, which looked to Bridget very much like a grimace.

Moving back from him now, Bridget decided to make things a little easier for herself and instead of taking his shirt off, firstly she decided to remove his shoes, which in turn would make getting his pants off easier, when the time came.

He emitted a deep sigh of disappointment as he realized her intention, even though he had been granted a moment's respite from the pain, and watched her fingers working deftly at the knotted laces and then easing off the stiff new leather hiking boots with practiced ease, swiftly followed by the slightly damp thick cream socks he wore too, which she set aside with the shoes, and then she rose gracefully to her full height and turned away from him, making for the large pine table on the other side of the room.

Bridget had already found out a pair of George's pajamas, a new pair in charcoal grey with a bright scarlet red cord to secure them at the waist and matching piping around collar and pocket and down both seams of the pants, which she had given to her brother for Christmas but which had not even made it out of the cellophane wrapper, George preferring to sleep in the buff when he had a choice.

The night attire, although probably far too big for him, would at least preserve his modesty and help to keep him warm, was neatly folded on the table beside the bowl of now cooling anti septic water and first aid box, and she made her way to the table now, unaware that as she did so, her hand drifted absently to the aching muscles in her lower back.

She picked up the pajamas and carefully tossed the garments across the room, watching with undisguised pleasure as they landed on the couch beside her visitor. She then tossed the very basic first aid kit after the pajamas and was again satisfied to see it land safely on the couch beside him and then after draping the towels loosely over her shoulder, Bridget carried the bowl of water back across the room, setting it down carefully on the floor, to one side of the couch, well out of the way until she needed it, and then she dropped the towels on the couch beside the pajamas.

Next, she knelt down before him once more and gazed up into his face, her eyes begging him to trust her to do what needed to be done, and the look that settled on his face in response was one of determination mingled with resignation.

He knew that it was now or never, and he was letting her know that like it or not, he was ready for her to get on with it.

Without further comment, Bridget made quick work of loosening the tiny pearl buttons on the collar and cuffs of the pale blue cotton shirt, then reached out to him once more, gently easing his upper body forward, drawing him toward her so that he was leaning against her and then she somehow twisted around him, still bearing most of his weight as she leaned around him and got busy, using her fingers to pull the tails of his shirt loose from the waistband of his pants, and then slipped her hand gently between the cotton material of his shirt and his warm flesh, easing it away from his body, and then grabbed a handful of the material at the bottom hem and eased it carefully up and over his head in one swift, fluid movement.

Despite her speed and care, he let out a sharp shout of pain, and was breathing hard and grimacing, the color once again draining from his face, as she moved away from him now, backing away to give herself room to gently pull each sleeve slowly down his arms, and then it was over and she was discarding the shirt absently, as she ran her eyes over his wonderfully tan exposed chest.

She noticed immediately that there was some pretty nasty bruising coming out on the right side of his ribcage, and now realized from the way that he was sitting that he was indeed favoring his right side.

The livid bruising looked pretty sore, standing out clearly on the right side of his body between the line of his belt and his armpit and wrapping around from front to back in bright red striations interspersed with a blue and purplish hue.

As far as she could see, that was by far his worst injury, with perhaps the wound to the back of his head and the cut on his brow. His torso and arms were covered with tiny nicks and scratches and smaller bruises, but once they were cleaned up they would heal quickly.

Now that the jacket and the shirt were off she could clearly see the wide silver colored bangle on his right wrist, and unable to quell her curiosity she reached out to turn his hand over so that she could get a better look at it.

Frowning, curious to know what had gotten her attention, he watched her turn his hand over gently and twist the silver band around his wrist, leaning in a little closer to peer at it myopically.

"WO5 Saint John Hawke, 7.4.69. July 4th, 1969," she read the inscription out loud then raised her eyes from the bracelet and allowed her curious dark blue gaze to settle on his face, surprised to find a frown tugging at his brow, an otherwise vague expression on his handsome, chiseled features.

"Is that me?" he demanded gruffly, unable to conceal the emotion in his voice now. "Is that my name?"

"Does it feel like your name?"

He grew silent and thoughtful for a moment.

"Saint John?" she spoke the words as they were written, thinking to herself that it was a very unusual name.

"Sinjin," he corrected her quickly and then regarded her with wide eyed amazement, as though he genuinely had no idea how he knew that that was how it was meant to sound, and she watched him swallow hard, and she watched him swallow hard, his pronounced Adam's apple bobbing up and down in the tan column of his throat.

"Sinjin," she repeated, still watching his face carefully. "So, does it feel like _**your**_ name, Sinjin?"

"No," he emitted a deep, ragged sigh of disappointment.

"Then I guess it's not," she eyed him sympathetically, although if she were honest with herself, she really was not surprised.

There was something about the date on the bracelet.

It was obviously significant, but she doubted that it was his birth date. By no stretch of the imagination could he pass himself off as seventeen years old.

She wasn't very good at estimating ages, but she suspected that like her self, he wouldn't see thirty again, although she was sure that unlike herself, he was on the right side of forty.

Still, now that she stopped and thought about it, maybe the bracelet had been a gift from his family to mark a special birthday.

_**A twenty first birthday?**_

_**Maybe.**_

That would make him almost thirty eight.

"What does it mean?" he spoke in a voice rough with emotion, his piercing blue eyes demanding answer from her that she did not have.

"I don't know. If it doesn't feel right, then I guess we have to accept that you aren't this Sinjin Hawke, but maybe Sinjin was a friend of yours."

Her voice trailed away as she again thought about the date, and suddenly remembered that back in 1969, America had been deeply embedded in a war in Vietnam, and as soon as the thought registered, she also now recalled hearing about families who had lost sons and fathers and husbands and brothers over there, who wore bracelets and talismans like this in remembrance of them.

_**Was that what this was?**_

Was this Sinjin Hawke a relative of his, or a special friend that he had lost out there in Vietnam?

It made sense.

Realizing just how upset and distraught he was, she also realized that it was probably better not to say anything and let the matter drop, until he remembered for himself the true significance of the bracelet.

He had enough to contend with right now, without revisiting a grief that perhaps he had already confronted and come to terms with.

"So, have you given any thought to what I should call you?" Bridget asked now, deciding to try to distract him and draw his mind back to the here and now.

"No," he told her thickly, eyes glazed over as though he was dredging his memory for something solid to hang on too, and her heart went out to him.

"Hey, it's ok, buddy," she reached out to pat his hand once more, and then suddenly, she was smiling at him warmly. "That's it! I'll call you Buddy."

"Buddy," he tried it on for size and realized that as names went, it was ok.

"That's settled then. I'll call you Buddy, at least until you can tell me what you're real name is. Deal?"

"Deal," he sighed raggedly and then watched with undisguised horror as her hands suddenly reached out to his belt, her fingers already working on unbuckling it before he came to his senses and swatted her hands away.

"I can manage from here," he told her in a gruff, ragged voice.

"Oh for heaven's sake. I thought we were beyond that," Bridget sighed heavily, dropping her hands as she watched his strong, thick fingers working to open up the belt.

His movements were slow and awkward and he still seemed to be having trouble focusing his eyes and after watching him fumble for several minutes, Bridget grew impatient.

"Buddy?" she pleaded in exasperation, her hands already moving out toward him.

He raised his eyes, distracted from concentrating on the task of pulling open the buckle, and suddenly realized how weak and breathless he felt even after that slight exertion.

However, there was a very good reason why he was fending off her tiny hands and resisting her attempts to assist him.

He was deeply embarrassed because out of nowhere he had suddenly remembered that he wasn't wearing any underwear.

"Oh for pity's sake, Buddy, you're worse than Kenny!" Bridget exclaimed, amusement twinkling in her dark blue eyes now. "Whatever you're hiding in there, I've seen before you know!"

"Not mine," the words were out before he could stop them and he found himself gazing up at her with a mortified expression on his face, wondering if she being deliberately obtuse or if she really didn't get how he was feeling right now. "Put yourself in my place, Midge, how would you feel?"

"I guess I wouldn't be very happy about it," she admitted with a soft sigh. "For all of thirty seconds, but you know, Buddy, you really _**can't **_die of embarrassment," she told him bluntly now, suddenly realizing what he had called her. "Are you always this stubborn and 'ornery?"

"I don't know," he told her and the look that he threw at her told her all too clearly that he was speaking the truth.

He really didn't have a clue who he was or what had happened to him, and it was that look on his handsome but confused face that gave her pause and made Bridget stop and consider his position a little more sympathetically.

_**How would you like it, lady? Huh?**_

"Ok, Buddy, what if I promise to close my eyes? Will you let me help you then? Huh? We both know that you don't have the energy to keep fighting me, so what do you say?" she quirked an eyebrow hopefully, but he remained silent, a belligerent expression on his face now. "Oh for crying out loud! We'll be here 'til Christmas at this rate!"

However he did not look convinced.

Still, she had to admit that it must be terribly difficult for him to accept that right now he didn't have the strength or the wherewithal to pull down his own pants.

"Ok, you win," she let out a deep sigh of resignation and pinned him with steady sapphire blue eyes. "You win," she repeated softening her tone of voice now, trying to be a little more understanding, and thinking to herself that if he wanted to act like Kenny, then maybe she should treat him like Kenny.

_**You**__** can catch more flies with honey than vinegar, kiddo!**_

"Do you think you can stand?" he nodded, mutely, eyes narrowing now as he wondered what she had in mind. "Ok, I'll help you up, then I'll turn my back and you can lean on me while you slip off your pants, then you can use the quilt to cover yourself until you are strong enough to put the pajama pants on. Is that acceptable?"

He glowered at her in stony silence, obviously so embarrassed and uncomfortable he could not enunciate to her exactly how he was feeling at that moment.

In truth, he was still a little disturbed and unnerved by the flood of emotions that had slammed through him, rocking him to his very core, at the mention of the name Sinjin, the image of a handsome, sandy haired older man with twinkling blue eyes and a wide boisterous grin on his face flashing though his mind, and he was still trying to come to terms with just how he had known how to pronounce the strange sounding name, and why the very sound of it on his lips tore at his heart and ripped at his soul and made his legs shake and tears sting in his eyes, and now he was acting like a child over dropping his pants in front of a woman.

_**Oh God ….**_

_**What kind of man was he?**_

He was a soldier dammit, or had been, and he was a man of the world, intelligent and reasonable and confident, and he should be able to rise above the embarrassment coursing through him.

"Buddy?" she softened her tone and regarded him with a more understanding expression on her face, deciding that she had been less than sympathetic with his plight.

Emitting a long, hissed breath through his teeth, he finally nodded his head, very carefully, his expression softening just a little too as he silently thanked her for softening her approach and her attitude.

He had quickly realized that what she had suggested was a more than reasonable compromise, and had found him self fleetingly wondering, had their roles been reversed, if he would have been a gentleman and averted his eyes while she stripped off.

He liked to think that he would be sensitive to her needs in a situation like that, and although he could see impatience in her eyes, he realized that she had reached the same conclusion. That she needed to be sensitive to his needs too.

However, her barb comparing him with the boy, Kenny, was still smarting, just a little, because he knew that it had been just a little too close to the truth.

Indeed he was acting like a belligerent child, and the way that she had so quickly softened her attitude toward him indicated that she had reached the same conclusion and was treating him as such.

"Good. How are your legs? Any cuts?" Bridget asked now with genuine concern.

There had been nothing obvious, but that was the whole point of taking his pants off, so that she could check how badly he was hurt and bathe any cuts and scratches.

His clothes would also need laundering, and she had intended to get onto that as soon as possible so she could hang them out to dry first thing in the morning. Aside from being covered with sap and mud and the odd splatter of blood, they were in good condition, no obvious rips or tears despite the fact that she had dragged him some considerable way, and she thought that he would perhaps prefer to wear his own gear rather than run the risk of breaking his neck tripping over George's baggy and over long pants every time he had to walk around.

"I don't think so. I wrenched my knee, I think," he mumbled, gingerly inching his way closer to the edge of the couch, raising his right index finger and using it to make a circular motion, indicating that she should turn around.

Emitting a short sigh of resignation, Bridget reluctantly obeyed, turning her back and giving him the privacy he needed.

She could hear his heavy breathing and his soft grunts of pain and exertion then she could feel his hand on her shoulder as he reached out to steady himself, leaning heavily against her and then she heard a whisper of cloth as his pants descended to his ankles as she found herself praying that he would not lean on her more heavily or they would both be on the floor, for she was in danger of losing her balance and she feared that she might just find herself pinned under an unconscious man, a dead weight that she might not be able to move out from under.

"I guess if you'd torn an artery we'd both know about it by now," Bridget spoke through gritting her teeth as his fingers bit into the delicate flesh across her shoulder as he leaned hard against her, trying not to lose his balance, and then he let go and sat down again with a hearty sigh and a soft groan of pain.

Bridget did not move. She remained with her back to him, giving him time to get himself together and cover himself with the quilt, trying hard to smother a smile at the same time.

"Thank you," he managed through clenched teeth, breathing hard as he reached out for the quilt and covered his nakedness swiftly.

"You decent?"

"Yes Ma'am," he confirmed breathlessly as he stretched the quilt out across his lap.

"Good," Bridget turned around and found him perched on the edge of the couch, looking pale, eyes watering once more and perspiration once again dampening the baby fine hair of his fringe as it clung to his brow. "Now let's get one thing straight, buster."

"Buddy," he corrected her then realized from the sharp expression on her face that it had not been a slip of the tongue, but intentional.

She gave him a pointed look and he pulled himself together enough to nod his head.

"Look, I know this isn't easy for you, but I'm really not interested in getting an eye full of what Ma Nature endowed you with. I'm not interested in cheap thrills," she explained in a low, calm voice. "All I want is to get you cleaned up and into clean clothes and then make you comfortable. Are we clear on that point?"

"Ma'am. Yes Ma'am!"

At least now he had the grace to look a little shamefaced, as well as nauseous and dizzy and Bridget responded by squatting carefully and grabbing the material of each pant leg gently eased them over each of his ankles and feet until he was free of the encumbrance completely.

"Good. Now, can I get on?"

"Go ahead. I don't have the energy to fight my way out of a paper bag right now, Midge."

Without further comment, Bridget set about examining each of his wounds and bathing them with the anti septic water which had cooled considerably now.

He bore all quietly, wincing now and again when the anti septic stung a particularly nasty cut or scratch, and then he endured her winding a bandage around his chest, to support his ribs, although he was relieved to hear her say that she didn't think any of them were broken, just badly bruised, and another around his left knee and right wrist, for support, and yet another around his head, keeping the wound behind his ear and the cut above his eyebrow clean and dry.

Finally, she was done, and he was relieved because suddenly he felt as if all the life had drained out of him once again, and he feared that he might be in danger of passing out again.

They repeated the process of Bridget turning her back so that he could stand up and lean against her while he tugged on the clean pajama bottoms and then seated once more, having got some of his breath back, she helped him to pull on the pajama top then picked up his legs and guided them back onto the couch as he lay back against the pillow with a low moan.

The last thing that she did was pick up the glass of water that she had set aside a little while ago and offered it to him, then reached into the first aid box, pulling out a small brown pill bottle and twisting off the top carefully, she dropped a couple of Aspirin in to his hand and watched him swallow them down with a couple of big gulps of water.

"You ok?"

"I think I've had better days."

"Yeah, I think you have too," she smiled softly down at him now, gathering her things together. "Look, I'm really worried about that knock on the head. I think I'm going to call the local doctor …."

"No! No doctors," he cut across her. "I'm ok, really."

"I don't know …." Bridget caught her bottom lip between her teeth and chewed on it pensively.

"I'm fine, really. I just need to rest," he assured her.

"Well," Bridget let out a deep sigh, scooping up the damp towel she had dropped on the floor beside the couch. "Maybe I'll wait a little longer. See how things go."

"Thank you."

"I guess you don't like doctors, huh?"

"No, it's not that. I just don't want to be any trouble."

"Its way too late for that!" Bridget teased. "If we hadn't already agreed to call you Buddy, I guess Trouble was the next name on the list!" Bridget actually laughed then, a pleasant sound, neither high pitched or raucous but a gentle sound. "My mother used to say she should have called me Trying. I thought that meant that she was proud of me for being up for most things and trying everything, but what she really meant was that I was good at trying her patience."

Bridget watched now as he blinked rapidly several times, as though his eyelids were suddenly too heavy for him to keep them open, and she quickly reached out to take the tumbler of water from him.

"You try to get some rest, but please, if you need anything, or you don't feel well, let me know. I'm not a mind reader, and it won't be any trouble," she assured him, then gathered up the remainder of her bits and pieces and headed back across the room toward the archway that separated the living area from the kitchen, and after depositing everything on the work surface, she popped her head back through the opening and found that he had decided to take her advice for his eyes were closed and his breathing was soft and rhythmical and she realized that he had fallen into a natural slumber.

_**Half your luck, pal. **_

She was utterly exhausted too, now that she had time to stop and think and relax a little, however she suspected that it might be a long and arduous night, especially if that head injury of his really was concussion and he got sick during the night, so she made up her mind there and then that it would be better for her not to leave him and that she would be spending the night downstairs tonight.

The prospect of spending the night in one of the armchairs didn't exactly fill her with joy, but at least she might actually catch a few hours sleep, whereas if she went upstairs to her room, she would probably lie awake all night, waiting for something to happen.

She set to tidying everything up in the kitchen and sorting through his laundry, her face suddenly breaking out into a wide, cheeky grin when she realized that there was an item of clothing missing, suddenly understanding the real reason for his embarrassment when she found no under pants tangled up with his pants.

No wonder he had been mortified.

_**Silly man.**_

Actually, now that she stopped and thought about it, she thought it quite charming, that he had wanted to spare her blushes, as well as his own of course.

The kitchen cleaned and the laundry sorted ready for the morning, having decided that she was too tired and it was too late to set the washing machine going, Bridget crept back into the living area to check on her guest.

He was sleeping soundly, the quilt pulled up tightly under his chin, snoring softly.

Satisfied that he seemed to be peaceful and comfortable, smiling softly to herself Bridget made her way quietly upstairs to check on her nephew, who was also sleeping soundly.

She found herself marveling at the way Kenny was sleeping, all scrunched up in the middle of the bed, almost as though he were kneeling, sheets and quilt pulled up over his head and she thought it amazing that he hadn't suffocated under there.

However, she could hear his gentle snores and knew that he was fine, so after a trip to the bathroom to throw some cold water on her face, Bridget made her way back down stairs and took up her post watching over her guest as he slept.


	18. Chapter 18

**_Chapter Seventeen._**

_**Santini Air Chopper,**_

_**En Route to Washington State,**_

"So, Steven, that's Hawke's dad, well, Steven and me, we'd never been so scared in all our born days, I can tell ya, flying by the seat of our pants over the English Channel with one engine on fire and the tail and one wing riddled with bullet holes, but I have to say that that B-17 was a magnificent machine. The Flying Fortress, and boy, she really was. Got a reputation during the war for getting the guys home no matter how badly damaged, and I'm living proof. Still, I don't mind admitting that I needed a dry pair of pants when I got back to base, and Steven and me and the other guys made a point of going out and sinking a few celebratory pints of that god-awful warm English beer that night!"

Dominic Santini chuckled into the microphone of his headphones, caught up in reliving the memory of his days in the European theater of war back in 1943, but when he turned his head to begin recounting another tale to his companion, Megan Ravenson, seated beside him in the noisy cockpit of the Santini Air Bell Jet Ranger, heading North to Washington State, he realized that she probably hadn't heard a single word that he had just said.

Megan was miles away, caught up in her own thoughts, a far away expression on her lovely face.

They had made an early start, Dominic picking her up from her house at sun up and driving her to the hangar. She had made coffee for them both while he had readied the chopper for their trip.

Megan had made the coffee good and strong, just the way Dominic liked it, high octane, String called it, but it was just what he had needed to jump start his still sleepy and sluggish system, and they had sipped their coffee in silence. However, Megan's quiet thoughtfulness and the vacant expression on her face had deterred Santini from asking the question burning in his mind.

He would know soon enough if she had dreamed, and he decided to leave well alone for the time being, deciding that Megan obviously needed more time to analyze what she had dreamed before sharing with him.

However, the look on her face hadn't done anything to inspire any great confidence that she had come up with some thing that would help them locate Stringfellow Hawke.

Dominic had filed his flight plan with the air traffic control tower and then they had left, before Caitlin O'Shannessy had arrived to take up her post in the office, monitoring the radio and the telephone, although she had called him on the radio about a half an hour after they had left to let him know that she had arrived at the hangar and was going to tackle the accounts, chasing up outstanding invoices and wading through the pile of filing on his desk, making work to keep herself busy.

They had been in the air for roughly two hours, and Santini had filled the emptiness with his exaggerated war stories while Megan remained silent, and now Dominic Santini decided that Megan had had long enough with her thoughts and that enough was enough.

"Ok, Megan, out with it!"

There was a hard edge to his voice as he addressed her now and a stern look on his face that finally alerted her to the fact that his patience with her had reached its limit and she turned to face him, frowning, then emitted a soft sigh of apology.

"Just how bad is it, honey?" he asked bluntly, having prepared himself for the worst since the very first time he had set eyes on her this morning.

At least now he knew that she could not avoid talking to him.

They were cruising at eight thousand feet and making one hundred knots, almost at the aircrafts peak performance, on schedule for their next refueling stop and he was fairly sure that no matter how bad it was, Megan wasn't about to bail out on him, especially as on this little jaunt, parachutes were not included.

"What?" she frowned vaguely at him, and then suddenly realized what he was asking of her and her jaw dropped, her lips making a perfect, silent oh.

"It's nothing like that, Dom. Honest," Megan assured him swiftly, silently berating herself for not considering that he would jump to the worst possible conclusion about what she had seen in her dreams and that she was trying to protect him.

"Then what is it?"

She remained silent for several more minutes, chewing thoughtfully on the inside of her cheek, and growing ever more impatient, Santini turned to her at last and nudging her gently with his elbow, glowered at her.

"Ah, Dom, this is weird," she exclaimed in exasperation. "Even for me!" she added when she noticed the expression on his face. "I tell you about the dream I had last night, and I know I'm going to sound like a raving lunatic!" she threw her hands up in despair now, mindful of the flight controls in front of her as she did so. "I know I sometimes come across sounding crazy, but this is bizarre."

"Bizarre? How Bizarre?"

"Right out there in whacky land," Megan confessed.

"Megan, it's me you're talking to now. I know how this thing works, and you never sounded crazy," Santini assured her now and she turned to look him at last and blessed him with a gentle smile. "And whacky or not, I wanna hear it!"

"Ok Dom, just don't say you weren't warned."

"Megan …."

"Ok, ok. Well, to start with," she turned away from him again, leaned her head back as far as the headset she was wearing would allow and closed her eyes. "There was a circus."

"A circus?"

"Yeah, you know, a travelling circus, complete with wire walker, acrobats, a man juggling with fire and elephants in tutus and ballet shoes," she paused to emit a deep sigh of frustration and Santini was glad that she had her eyes shut as his own eyes rolled heavenward as he pictured the image in his minds eye, trying to recall if he had ever taken the Hawke boys to see a circus when they were kids.

"There were a couple of men on a trapeze, they were pretty good too, and then the ring master came in to announce the next act."

Again Megan paused to take a breath, lowering her lashes and shooting a wary glance in Santini's direction, trying to gage his reaction to what she had said so far.

"So which one was Hawke? The ring master, the juggler or the wire walker?" Santini quizzed, trying to second guess her about what either character might represent.

"None of them. Hawke wasn't in the dream, at least not that part of the dream," Megan exclaimed.

"Then what?" Santini frowned turning his head to regard her with genuine puzzlement now.

"The ring master was," she paused, as though already having doubts about whether to continue or not, and Santini nodded encouragement at her.

"The ring master was a dog," she mumbled out of the corner of her mouth and then hung her head, drawing in a ragged breath.

"A dog?"

"A blood hound."

"Okayyyyyyyyy."

"And he was using a bull horn to address the audience."

"Oh boy …."

"Dominic," her tone held a warning now and she raised her head and pinned him with cold grey eyes and an expression on her face that said 'I told you so'. "See what I mean?"

"Ok honey, it's your dream, just can't help wondering what you ate for supper last night."

"Definitely not cheese!" she allowed herself to smile at him now, grateful for his indulgence and his patience.

"Ok, Meg, just tell it like it was and when this is over, and the guys turn up to take you away to the funny farm, I'll put in a good word with the warden, get you a nice room with padded walls and remote control color TV so you can use your chin to press the buttons and not have to worry about loosening the straight jacket. If you're real good, I might insist on cable too."

"Ha, ha, very funny. My, you know how to make a lady feel like a queen, Dom," Megan smirked, appreciating his sense of humor.

It reminded her of those dark days when they had first met and she was under pressure to find the missing child. Everyone else had been in her face, demanding answers, but Dominic Santini had cracked jokes, mainly about himself and his age, raising a smile and trying to make her forget the cruelty of those insensitive clods who were running the operation.

"So what else?" Santini prompted, his expression indicating to her that she had got the worst part over with and that no matter how zany it sounded he was still with her.

"Midgets."

"Huh?"

"The clowns were all midgets, like the little guys in that movie The Wizard of Oz, you know, Munchkins!

"Munchkins."

"Yeah, weird little guys with high pitched voices, all singing the same infuriating song; _'In a mountain greenery, where God paints the scenery, just two crazy people together,' _she mimicked for him and then watched with alarm as his jaw suddenly dropped open, his eyes grew wide and his hand wobbled every so slightly on the flight control stick.

"Dom!" she exclaimed in alarm as she felt the chopper judder and swing slightly to the left.

"I'm ok," he assured her, straightening the chopper up and casting his eyes swiftly over all the instruments to assure him self that they were still flying straight and level.

"What happened?" Megan asked in an anxious voice now, terror evident in her wide eyes as she hung on to her seat with a white fingered grip.

"It's ok, honey," Santini assured in confident tones now. "You just gave me quite a shock. That song. I was teasing Hawke with it, before he left," he explained giving her an apologetic look now. "Sorry. I didn't mean to scare you like that."

"So long as you're ok, Dom. I thought you were having a stroke there for a minute there."

"So? Go on," Santini prompted once more, returning his attention to the panoramic vista through the front windshield and sucking in deep, cleansing breaths, and Megan suddenly realized that he didn't think she was quite so crazy after all and that it wasn't a joke either.

"There was an old woman. She was sitting at some kind of old fashioned loom, and the thing that she was making, the cloth that she was weaving, was a big square with a huge letter Z in the center and underneath it, a bird of prey with it's wings outstretched."

"Hawke."

"Maybe," Megan conceded with a soft sigh. "She just sat there, weaving, while the Munchkin clowns danced and the ring master shouted at everyone through his bull horn, barking at them I should say."

Her voice trailed away and she closed her eyes, raising her hand to pinch the bridge of her nose, and Santini found himself wondering if the air pressure up here at this altitude was bothering her and affecting her sinuses or her ears.

"You ok?" he asked with genuine concern, prepared to reduce altitude if it was bothering her so much.

"What do you think?" she opened her eyes and turned to grin at him. "I'm fine. Just a headache. I get them quite often when I'm working," she explained and he nodded, returning his attention to the instruments before him.

Santini went over what she had told him again silently in his head.

A dog with a bull horn, a woman weaving a cloth with a big Z and an eagle, or some bird of prey, on it, and manic dwarves singing a corny old song from an ancient Broadway show.

_**Oh man!**_

It sounded like one helluva surreal nightmare to Dominic Santini, and he had no idea what to make of any of it, but more to the point, he suspected that Megan didn't either, and now he understood why she had been so reluctant to share.

However, no matter how weird the rest of it, there was one thing that he could not get away from.

**_That song._**

How else would Megan have known about that, if her dream didn't have any thing to do with Stringfellow Hawke's present situation?

"I can't make heads or tails of it, Dom, and it's driving me crazy, especially that wretched song! Thanks for that," she paused for a moment, growing solemn now. "I'm sorry, Dom. I don't know what any of it means, except that it has to be about Hawke. I've gone over it and over it in my mind, and I still don't have a clue."

"It's ok, Megan. Maybe it will become clear when we get there."

"I hope so. I sure hope so. I wouldn't want to think we were on a wild goose chase."

Megan still did not sense any kind of urgency, but she wasn't stupid, she knew that the longer Hawke was out of contact, the more chance there was that he was seriously injured and could possibly die from exposure, or an encounter with a mountain lion or a bear.

"How much longer?" she asked now, shifting her position in her seat to ease the ache in her hips and knees caused by sitting in the same position for so long.

"Maybe half an hour until our next gas stop."

"Good, I could use a chance to stretch my legs."

"I'm sure there'll be a ladies room," he assured her misunderstanding her meaning, and her squirming around in her seat and Megan was suddenly grinning at him.

"I didn't say anything about needing the ladies room, Dom, but thanks. I'll be sure to check it out while we're there."

0-0-0-0

_**Somewhere in Washington State,**_

_**Mid morning.**_

Bridget Goodwin watched as her guest, the man she had named Buddy, because he could not remember his real name, opened his eyes, blinked rapidly a couple of times, and then allowed his gaze to roam about the room until at last it came to rest on her face.

She was sitting in an armchair, positioned slightly to one side of the couch where he lay, not its usual home, but she had moved it from the other side of the room the previous night so that she could watch over him and be close if he should need her assistance in the night.

She had dozed, on and off, slightly cramped and uncomfortable curled up in the armchair, but she need not have worried about her houseguest.

It had been a long and uneventful night.

Buddy had been restless, mumbling and muttering in his sleep, nothing that she could quite catch clearly but which had caused her to ponder on the content of his dreams and if they might in some way prove to be the key to unlocking his memory.

He had slept, fitfully, moving position often when his aches and pains dictated the need to relieve the pressure on one part of his body or another, but in the main, he had been quiet and peaceful.

She had slept too, one ear cocked for any sign of trouble, either from Buddy, or Kenny, her nephew, sleeping soundly upstairs in his room, and although she was a little stiff and had a crick in her neck, Bridget was relieved that it had turned out to be a much quieter night than she had first envisioned,

_**Maybe be didn't have **__**a concussion after all?**_

Perhaps then, in that case, she would put off making that call to Dr Brunswick, Bridget decided, realizing that the man Buddy seemed able to focus those arresting blue eyes of his a little better this morning.

He was smiling at her too, and she realized that somehow it made all the difference, transforming him from being simply cute to devastatingly handsome as the years fell away from him and he suddenly seemed so much younger.

"Hi," she greeted him politely; taking in his sleep flushed face and relaxed posture as he gazed back at her, still smiling softly.

"Hi," he returned her greeting now, raising a balled fist carefully to his mouth to smother a wide yawn, frowning as the sleeve of his pajama top pulled back a little to reveal the bandage wound around his wrist, and then she saw understanding flash through his eyes and knew that he remembered what had brought him here and why his wrist was bandaged.

She also saw his gaze come to rest on the bangle, which she had slipped back over the bandage when she had finished securing it, and fleetingly wondered if he understood its significance now, however, if he did, he kept it's meaning to himself as he dragged his gaze away from the bangle and fixed steady, focused blue eyes on her once more.

"How do you feel?"

"Better," he told her, after a moment to silently assess his condition, and there was a note of genuine surprise in his voice.

"Good," Bridget allowed herself a smile now, pleased that he felt a little better. "Hungry?"

As soon as her words registered in his brain, he was nodding, gingerly in response and giving her a lopsided smile of affirmation.

"Yeah. I think I am."

"I know you are," Bridget grinned back at him now. "I've been listening to your stomach growling for the last half an hour," she chuckled. "Question is; do you think you can keep something down?"

Buddy grew silent and thoughtful, then shifted his position slightly on the couch, wincing with pain as various parts of his body registered their disapproval, but Bridget could tell from the look on his face that he no longer felt quite so sickly or dizzy, and she found herself thinking that that had to be a good sign that he was on the mend.

"Yeah," he spoke at last. "I think I could."

"Great. So, what would you like? How about some scrambled eggs and toast and coffee to start with?" she suggested

This morning, Kenny had been out of bed at the crack of dawn, and for once had not needed prodding into doing his chores. He had been eager to learn how their guest was doing and excited to learn that she had decided to call him Buddy, because he couldn't remember his own name yet, and then he had disappeared outside to see to Boomer and his other chores.

There had been half dozen freshly laid eggs in the henhouse when he had checked and he had bought them to her proudly, and then had wolfed down his breakfast of cereal and a slice of toast, then excused himself to finish his chores, somewhat disappointed that their guest still showed no signs of waking up as he trooped noisily through the living room and out into the golden morning light.

That had been at least a couple of hours ago, Bridget now realized, chewing on her lip pensively as she wondered where the boy and his dog had taken themselves off to this morning, for there had been no sign of Kenny or Boomer when she had checked the yard a little while ago when she had gone to have a quick wash and change out of the clothes that she had slept in all night.

"Sorry but I don't have any bacon to go with those eggs."

Actually, she didn't have much of anything left in the house, having intended to be leaving for her own home back in Honesty after the weekend.

After George's funeral, she had bought only enough supplies to see herself and Kenny through until Sunday evening and now all the cupboards and the refrigerator were almost bare.

However, she did still have just under half of the loaf of bread that she had made yesterday left.

"That's ok. I don't eat it."

Even as he finished speaking, Bridget could see the frown tugging at his brow, as if he had no idea why he had said that.

"I don't eat meat at all," he added somewhat vaguely, by way of explanation, and Bridget smiled softly at him as she eased herself forward to perch on the edge of the armchair.

"You remembered something," she pointed out, watching the frown deepening, drawing his brows together.

"I don't know that I would go so far as to say I remembered," he contradicted her, sighing softly, a solemn expression on his face now. "I don't think it was a memory really, just something that I know," he explained.

"Speaking of remembering, do you remember anything else about yourself?" she asked softly.

Again, she watched the expression on his face grow vague, only to be replaced a few moments later, firstly by frustration and then irritation.

"I guess not."

"No. I'm sorry."

"Hey, don't apologize. You've been through quite a lot, and I guess that bang on the head has given you amnesia."

"Amnesia," he repeated, then nodded in understanding. "Memory loss, right?"

"Yeah," she confirmed, scratching absently at her earlobe as she regarded him with understanding. "But hopefully it will only be temporary. Just give yourself time, Buddy. It is still ok to call you Buddy, right?"

"Yeah. Why not."

"Like I said, give yourself time. I'm sure your memory will come back, but I guess you're just gonna have to be patient for a while. Don't rush things, and don't expect too much of yourself to begin with."

He knew that she was right.

It was perhaps expecting too much for his memory to return all at once and so quickly.

However, as he watched Bridget rise gracefully from her chair, stretching her slender body carefully and smothering a yawn with her hand, he did recall seeing a face floating in and out of his dreams.

A face and a name to go with it.

_**Progress!**_

The face had been that of an older man with a wide, gap toothed smile and watery brown eyes, and every time he saw the man's face, he had also heard in his mind the name Dom, or Dominic.

He had no idea who the man was, or what it meant, but he could not stop himself from thinking that it was important, and a significant, if small break through.

_**Is this man, Dominic, my father?**_

He pondered silently, watching Bridget rubbing sleep from the corner of her eyes now.

_**If so, why call him Dom? Why not Dad?**_

This question suddenly reminded him of the boy Kenny, and that he had called Bridget by another name.

_**Midge.**_

"So, Midge," he tried the new name out and found that he liked the sound of it as he smiled softly up at her.

However, the look he suddenly saw on her face told him that she was not particularly happy to hear him using it.

_**Why was she so touchy about it?**_

"I'm sorry, I guess you don't like me calling you that," he told her with genuine regret, not wanting to hurt her or rile her, after all, he still needed her and the sanctuary she was providing him with.

"It's ok. I guess I shouldn't be so sensitive about it."

"So why are you?" the words were out before he could stop them, and as he watched the irritation cross her face once more, he wondered if he was always this blunt and tactless.

"Because originally, it was a family thing, meant affectionately, but later it wasn't very complimentary. A comment on my size from my peers in the school yard."

"Huh? I don't get it."

"Bridget the midget," she told him in a low, cold voice, through tightly clenched teeth.

"When my brother was small he couldn't pronounce my name properly. Somehow it always seemed to come out as Midge and of course, the rest of the family just accepted it. But when he started school and called me Midge the rest of the kids latched on to it as a way of teasing me about my height, or lack there of," she explained in a tight voice, her eyes issuing him with a challenge to make fun of her, as the kids at school had all those years ago.

"Thankfully, as I got older it got shortened to Midge again, and pretty soon folks around these parts realized that whilst I might be short, they had big trouble on their hands if they messed with me!"

"Like Cait. Fiery tempered."

Again the words were out before he even thought about what he was saying, and this time, along with the name, he saw the image of the pretty red headed woman that he had seen briefly before, flash through his mind once again, and he found himself smiling broadly now.

_**Cait.**_

Caitlin.

A feisty and hot tempered red head from Texas.

_**Caitlin O'Shannessy.**_

The woman that he loved.

"Cait?" Bridget immediately jumped on the name, relieved to have something to take his mind off her own rather irritating nickname. "Is she your girl?"

"Yeah," he answered with much more confidence and certainty, the smile on his lips immediately growing into a wide, bashful, boyish grin. "Yeah, I think maybe she is."

"I'd say from the look on your face right now, she most definitely is!" Bridget chuckled softly. "And I guess it's a place to start. If you can remember Cait now, then maybe the rest of your memory will come back too, a bit at a time."

"Maybe."

"Ok. Do you need anything? The bathroom maybe?"

"No, thanks. I'm good for a while."

She watched color creeping into his cheeks once more and marveled that something so natural could cause him so much discomfort, although she too was silently relieved.

She suspected that when the time came, he would insist on trying to get to the bathroom under his own steam, and she would not be at all surprised if he made it too.

With some food inside him, his legs would be stronger, and he was so damned stubborn and determined to be independent, he would grit his teeth and get on with it, even if it killed him.

She found herself admiring his determination and bravado.

"Right, you stay there while I go fix you something to eat."

"Thanks," she turned to walk away from him then, but he was suddenly curious to know where the boy was this morning.

"Bridget?" she stopped in mid turn and looked back at him with a softer expression on her face, silently thanking him for using her given name. "Where's Kenny?"

"He and Boomer are off on some expedition in the forest," she told him with a grin now, the expression on her face indicating to him that it was a huge adventure in the child's mind, to have the freedom to roam out there on the mountain and be master of his own destiny, at least until lunch time.

"Boomer?" he frowned.

"His dog."

"Bridget," his voice trailed away suddenly, having second thoughts about voicing his next question, but he needed to know if his being here was going to cause her problems later.

"Buddy?" she prompted, confused by the mixed emotions she could see on his face now. "You ok?"

"Yeah. Look, I don't want to be nosy, but, where's the boy's father? Is my being here going to cause trouble for you?"

"No need for you to worry about that, Buddy. You're safe, and when you're gone, Kenny and I won't be out here for much longer."

"You didn't answer my question, Bridget," he pointed out softly, watching her face for any sign that he was trespassing into things that did not concern him.

"George, that's Kenny's father, George died, last week," she explained on a soft, ragged breath.

"I'm sorry," and now he really was, cursing himself silently and kicking himself for once again being so insensitive and tactless.

Whatever her situation was, it wasn't really any of his business.

She had been kind to him, but that didn't give him the right to stick his nose into her business.

"That must have been hard on you," he added, sure that he could see grief in her eyes, although her expression remained neutral.

Still, he comforted himself with the fact that she did not appear to be angry with his curiosity.

"More so for Kenny," Bridget sighed forlornly, then suddenly realized from the expression on his face that he thought that George had been her husband and that Kenny was her son.

For a split second, it crossed her mind to allow him to keep thinking that, but then she thought better of it and allowed a smile to begin to curve at the corner of her lips, and his reaction was to quirk an eyebrow questioningly at her for it was obviously not the reaction he might have expected.

"George was my brother, the one that I just told you about, and Kenny is my nephew, but I'm flattered that you could think that he is my son," she smiled gently at him now and saw relief replace the curiosity in his eyes now.

"What happened?"

"George was trying to fix a shingle on the stable roof before a storm came up, and he slipped and fell. Broke his neck. As he fell he knocked over a storm lantern which started a fire,"

He saw the shudder run down her spine as she spoke and could only imagine how she must be feeling right now.

"Fortunately Kenny was out and about with Boomer when it happened, but the smell of smoke and the sound of the horses nickering and screaming bought him rushing home," she explained sorrowfully.

"I think he's maybe still in shock," she added. "And I know I'm not his most favorite person in the world right now, because I'm taking him away from the only home he's ever known, but the fact is, I can't stay here and live with him. I have a home and a business of my own," she paused to draw in a breath.

"I think your being here is a good thing, maybe take his mind off things for a while. He certainly seems more alert and protective of me this morning," she grinned then.

"Anyway, quit worrying about my jealous husband turning up and punching your lights out. I'm not married, but that doesn't mean that I'm not capable of taking care of myself," she warned in teasing tones and he watched her right hand curl up into a tight little fist at her side to silently emphasize her point.

"Although, come to think of it, I've heard that another bang on the head can help restore the memory," she chuckled at the outraged expression on his face now. "Relax Buddy, you're safe," she told him on another chuckle.

"Is that true?" he quirked an eyebrow now, genuinely interested. "Another bump on the head could help to bring my memory back?"

"So I've heard," she watched his face now, a calculating expression crossing his handsome features. "Hey, wait a minute, that's not your cue to throw yourself down the stairs, ya hear?"

"Spoilsport."

"Geez, you got a death wish or something!" she railed at him them and he was once again reminded that she had just lost someone that she loved under horrible circumstances and that nursing him must be difficult for her, when there had been nothing that she could do to help her brother.

"I'm sorry," he grew solemn once more.

"No, I'm sorry. Of course you had no intention of swan diving off the balcony," however, her expression was in complete contradiction to her words and he knew that she had realized that for the fraction of a second, he had seriously considered it.

He would do anything to get his memory back.

Not knowing anything about who he was or what kind of man he was was driving him crazy, but of course, he now realized that it would be utter madness to deliberately give him self another bump on the head.

He only had her word for it that it might restore his memory.

In truth, it might make matters even worse, he reasoned silently now, if not for his head, then the rest of his body, most of which was still very tender.

"Buddy?" she pressed him now.

"Of course not."

"Promise."

"Promise."

"Good, because if I come back in here later and find you in a heap on the floor, I won't try to put you back together again, Humpty Dumpty, I'll just sweep you up and leave you out for the garbage men!"

With that Bridget span on her heel and marched out of the living area, disappearing through the arch on the other side of the room, seeking the peace and tranquilly of her kitchen while she got her temper under control along with her heart rate and her nerves, and Buddy sank back against his pillow, emitting a long, deep sigh, silently cursing himself for his clumsiness.


	19. Chapter 19

**_Chapter Eighteen._**

_**Somewhere in Washington State,**_

_**Mid day.**_

Megan Ravenson watched with curiosity as Dominic Santini strode purposefully across the tarmac toward her. They had arrived at this small municipal airfield about thirty minutes before and after securing the chopper, Dom had gone in search of someone to refuel the Bell Jet Ranger and to see if he could find someone who could point him in the direction of the Hughes 500 that Stringfellow Hawke had borrowed a few days before.

The look on his handsome if somewhat rumpled face told Megan that he had struck pay dirt.

Aside form the charming grin splitting his face, Megan could tell that there was a new spring in his step, as Dominic marched in double time to where she stood, leaning casually against the side of the Bell Jet Ranger, savoring the warmth of the mid day sun on her face.

"You got something?" Megan asked as he approached her, raising her hand to shield her eyes against the sun now.

"Youbetchya!" Santini chortled. "The gals in the office remembered Hawke. Hardly surprising really. I figure they don't get much long distance traffic around here."

_**Not to mention that he's got the kind of face that most men would crawl through broken glass for and was easy to remember, either because of that frosty, accusing scowl he perpetually wore, or that heart stopping, utterly devastating smile that he some times pulled out of the hat to dazzle and beguile,**_ Megan Ravenson thought to herself silently.

One way or another, Stringfellow Hawke was a man who knew how to make a lasting impression and that made him a hard man to forget.

"One of the guys remembered the Hughes, and the others remembered Hawke because he paid cash for the gas, and asked the best place to rent a car. I stopped by and checked with the rental office and yes, he was there, and," he paused for effect. "The only thing they had available that day was a Jeep, so naturally, Hawke took it."

Megan nodded in understanding.

It was only a small detail, but it had been a Jeep that she had watched go sailing through the crash barrier and off the mountain road in her dream.

"They also told me to go talk to some old guy called Fred Wyman. Someone said they think they saw Hawke talking to him, probably about tying down the Hughes he flew up here and making sure it was gassed up ready for when he came back. Knowing Hawke, he probably slipped the guy a few extra dollars to keep his eye on the chopper until he got back. I found the Hughes and checked it over, just for my own peace of mind, and didn't find anything out of the ordinary," Santini explained. "This Wyman guy's over at one of the hangars. Wanna come with me? Stretch your legs?" he invited casually now.

"Sure Dom. Why not," Megan smiled, taking the arm he offered to her with a slight bow and huge grin.

They walked at a nice steady pace toward a row of dome roofed aircraft hangars constructed from aged corrugated metal, painted in a uniform grey, aged and stained red from rust here and there.

Megan was enjoying the sensation of being on a man's arm for the first time in years, reveling in being made to feel like a lady too, and she smiled serenely at Dominic Santini as they continued to walk.

He was such a charming companion. He had a good sense of humor and a wealth of amusing stories and he had kept her entertained throughout the journey, partly, she knew, to keep his mind off what they might find when they reached their destination in Washington State, and partly to relieve the monotony of the flight.

For just a split second, Megan couldn't help wondering if she hadn't made a mistake in letting him down, no matter how gently, all those years ago.

He really was a sweetheart, and they got along so well. She regretted that they hadn't seen more of each other since that other business with Hawke. The younger man had made life tough for her, but seeing Dominic again had been a real joy and when it was over and they had parted company, Meg had been reminded once again about how lonely she was and how isolated she felt in her self imposed exile.

Men like Dominic Santini were a rare commodity and they didn't come knocking at her door very often.

She couldn't help thinking that maybe she really had let a genuine chance for happiness slip by and that it had been a foolish thing to do, but then she told herself that yes, while it was nice and made for a pleasant change to have so much attention from a really nice guy like Dominic, she shouldn't let it go to her head.

What was done was done and she should also quit beating herself up over it.

Whatever there had been between them all those years ago, and she could not deny that there had been something. A spark, a flicker of hope, a realization that whilst acknowledging the fact that he treated her nicely and genuinely wanted to understand the forces that gripped her in the form of her gift, that she had found a true and lasting friendship with this wonderful man, she had also been surprised to find herself noticing that there was something different about him, that she really enjoyed his company and that she was becoming more aware of him as an attractive man with all those wonderful qualities that set him above other men she had known.

She had also been aware of the moment when he had stopped thinking of her as the girl he was escorting around, a work colleague, and started to think of her as a beautiful young woman with a warm sense of humor and a wealth of sensitivity and understanding.

She had been terribly flattered to begin with, and then she had broken her own golden rule about not allowing her heart to over rule her head, and she had allowed herself to feel more for Dominic Santini than she had for any man since Tony, either before or since.

And suddenly she had gotten scared.

It was then that she had started to pulled back from him, sensing his surprise and his confusion and ultimately, his disappointment as she withdrew from him more and more.

She suspected that Dominic thought that she felt that he was too old for her, but in truth, Megan had never seen him as old, more mature yes, but he had such a youthful out look on life and such a quirky sense of humor that really appealed to her, Meg had never given his age more than a cursory thought.

In the end, Meg had been too afraid of the depth of her fledgling feelings for Dominic Santini and she had lost her nerve, scared that she would give too much of her heart to him, only to have it broken once more, because no matter how sensitive or tolerant or understanding he was, in her mind it was inevitable that her gift and the work that she did with it would eventually come between them.

Meg had tried to protect her already battered heart, but she had also wanted to protect Dominic from the heartache and disappointment that she knew would eventually cloud their relationship and destroy their love.

Megan knew that any chance that they might have had back then to make something more of it was long gone now.

What would be the point of resurrecting it?

Nothing had really changed for her, and if she had read the signals correctly, Dominic Santini was having far too good a time saving the world in that fancy black and white helicopter, his precious Lady, with Stringfellow Hawke.

Did she really want to embroil herself in the kind of things Dominic was getting involved in, the dark and sinister clandestine world he lived on the fringes of, and could she live with the secrecy and the constant fear that one day he might not come back from one of those little adventures?

In her heart, she had acknowledged a long time ago that Dominic Santini was the one that had gotten away, and as she watched him surreptitiously through her lashes now, Megan Ravenson finally had to admit that she had probably made the biggest mistake of her life in turning her back on the love and the life that he had offered to her, but there was nothing that she could do about it now, and that no matter how many regrets she might have, there was still no future for them.

There was nothing in this world that could entice her to deliberately hurt this sweet man. She would rather die first, and reason told her that she had made the right decision all those years ago, if for all the wrong reasons.

She was grateful for his friendship, the one blessing that she could still count on in this crazy, topsy turvey and often times bigoted world she lived in and was glad that despite his disappointment, she had not really damaged his heart.

Most of the businesses on the strip were closed, maybe for lunch, or maybe they didn't work weekends, however the door of the last hangar on the row was slightly ajar, and as they drew closer, Megan and Dominic could see that it was some kind of janitor's supply store room.

As they approached the open door, they could hear someone moving around inside, rattling something metallic and whistling an old love song that Dominic Santini recognized immediately and recalled had been a big hit way back in the forties for Frank Sinatra, now recalling the haunting lyrics; _'I'll be loving you, always'_ and he found himself surreptitiously casting a sideways glance at Megan Ravenson and emitting a soft, wistful sigh.

"Can I help you folks?"

A somewhat stooped and elderly man with a crooked smile and rheumy brown eyes and white hair, clad in stained coveralls and thick soled work boots addressed them as they stepped into the store room, which smelled of spilled oil and polish and various other chemical fumes.

"Sure, if you're Fred Wyman."

"I am," the older man confirmed, then turned away from them to loudly clear phlegm from his throat, covering his mouth with an arthritic hand as he did so.

"And who might you be?" he asked when he turned back to face them, his wrinkled face slightly flushed now and he appeared to be a little breathless, and Santini found himself wondering if years of exposure to all these fumes had affected the older man's lungs.

"You ok?" Santini asked with genuine concern, clearly able to see that the man was having difficulty in getting his breath.

"I'm fine," the old man insisted rather gruffly.

"My name is Dominic Santini," Santini ignored the older man's irritated tone of voice, fully able to understand his reaction to unwanted sympathy and fussing, recognizing it as something that he him self also did whenever Caitlin or Hawke showed concern for his health and he didn't want to appear weak in their eyes.

"And this here is Megan Ravenson," he indicated to the slender blonde woman standing beside him now, who was gazing around the hangar curiously as she allowed him to make the introductions.

"Santini, did ya say?" Wyman was frowning at Dominic Santini now, scratching absently at his wrinkled brow just above his right eyebrow. "Now where did I hear that name before?" he mumbled to himself distractedly.

"Maybe from a young fella called Hawke? Stringfellow Hawke?" Santini prompted hopefully then regarded the other man expectantly.

"Huh?" Fred Wyman continued to frown, racking his brain, but when he could find no readily available answer, he shrugged his shoulders vaguely.

"Young fella, came in a few days ago in a Hughes 500. Came from Los Angeles, California?" Santini reminded a little impatiently now, and Megan surreptitiously reached out and caught his hand, giving it a light squeeze as she gave him a look that bade him to be gentle with the older man.

"The folks back there in the office thought you might have seen him."

"Young fella?"

"Yeah?"

"Blew in here in a Hughes 500, right?"

"Yeah, yeah," Santini encouraged with a smile now.

"Oh yeah. That young fella."

"Yeah, that young fella," Santini rolled his eyes heavenward in exasperation and again Megan lightly squeezed his hand and offered him a sympathetic smile.

"Nice guy," Fred Wyman spoke in sincere tones, a look on his face now that indicated that he had been impressed with the young man's manners and respectful attitude toward him.

"Yeah, I remember now. He asked me to tie down the Hughes and make sure it was refueled ready for when he came back."

"Yeah, that's the guy," Santini grinned again now. "By the way, you did a good job. Thanks," he added and Wyman nodded in appreciation of the recognition.

"Don't care much for young folks these days, too rushed, too impatient, don't have time for us old 'uns, want everything done right now, but he was pleasant enough," the older man's smile was genuine now as he recalled his dealings with the young pilot from California.

"He was polite, didn't rush at me making demands, was well mannered, and generous too," Santini shot Megan a triumphant look that said 'I told you so' and grinned at her in relief now.

"What's he to you anyway?" Wyman regarded Santini with a stern expression on his face now, his voice edged with caution.

"He's a friend of mine. He flies for me."

"Santini Air."

"Yeah, yeah, that's me. Dominic Santini," he lifted the brim of his red silk baseball cap to flash the Santini Air logo just shy of the crown.

"Santini Air, out of Van Nuys, Los Angeles," Santini reached out now, offering the older man his hand and pumping his fine bone and paper thin skinned hand jovially now. "Did he happen to say where he was headed?"

"Something happen to him?"

"No, no, nothing like that," Santini assured swiftly, throwing Megan a warning look, indicating that he wanted her to play along with him. "Something came up back home and we need to find him. It's kinda urgent,"

"You say he's a friend of your's?" Wyman quizzed, suddenly growing suspicious. "And he didn't tell ya where he was going? An' you bein' his boss an' such a good friend an' all?"

Wyman was suddenly regarding Santini with hard, accusatory brown eyes.

"You got some ID, mister?" he demanded now. "You two cops? What did the young fella do?"

"It's nothing like that, Mr Wyman," Megan Ravenson decided to step in now, noting the irritation and belligerence in Dominic Santini's stance now. She had been mildly amused by their antics but as she regarded both men now she could imagine that left to their own devices, old guys or not, they would probably soon be throwing punches.

"Hawke is a very private man, Mr Wyman, and he tends to shun the modern world," Megan explained patiently, drawing the older man's gaze to her now and smiling softly.

"All we know is that Hawke was coming up here to visit with an old Army buddy of his. Maybe you know him? His name is Charlie Roth?"

Megan knew that it was a long shot that this old man would know Roth, but at least in giving him the facts she hoped to dispel his suspicions about their real reason for tracking down Stringfellow Hawke.

"Never heard of him." Wyman told her bluntly. "Washington's a big state, if you hadn't noticed, lady."

"Yeah. Right," Santini sighed in frustration, his shoulders rising up around his ears, his eyes raised to the heavens as he let out a long hissed breath. "Thanks for your time, pal," he ground out gruffly.

"Are you sure he didn't say where he was headed?" Megan pressed again, ignoring Santini and keeping her attention focused on Fred Wyman. "We really do need to find Mr. Hawke."

She deliberately kept her voice low and even, showing no sign of urgency or irritation, hoping that in staying calm and clear headed, Wyman would understand that it was a serious matter that had brought them to his door, and that whilst they needed his help, they did not want to make a fuss about it.

Fred Wyman ignored Santini too, realizing that the woman was easier to deal with and again he scratched his brow as he cast his mind back a couple of days.

"Well," he scratched at his chin now as he regarded Megan Ravenson with steady watery brown eyes. "I do seem to recall that he asked where he could rent a car," Megan nodded in encouragement, surreptitiously nudging Dominic Santini in the ribs with her elbow as he muttered something about already knowing that under his breath, but still loud enough for her to hear.

Fortunately Wyman was a little hard of hearing and did not catch what Santini said and now scratched at the thinning hair on the top of his head as he continued.

"He also asked where he could get a detailed local map. We shot the breeze for a few minutes, and I might have asked him if he was headed some place nice. He said somethin' like, 'a little piece of heaven by a lake', and I do recall that I had a joke with him, asking which one, as we got us a bushel of 'em around these parts, and I think he said something about the one out Weaver way."

"Weaver?" Dominic Santini and Megan Ravenson responded by speaking in unison, shooting meaningful glances at each other while Fred Wyman frowned at their peculiar reaction.

"Yeah, Weaver," he confirmed.

"It's a place?"

"Sure is. Last decent place for about a hundred miles to fill up with gas and stock up on supplies. Only mountains and lots of trees, and lakes of course, after that," Wyman explained. "There are some smaller communities in and around, but Weaver is the last place for miles that could pass its self off as a real town."

"You got a map, mister, you could maybe show us this Weaver place?" Santini asked politely now, his heart suddenly beating a little more rapidly in his chest and his palms suddenly growing sweaty.

"Sure thing," Wyman shrugged, indicating to a faded and grease stained old map pinned to a cork notice board on the other side of the store room.

Santini followed him as he ambled over to the notice board, deftly weaving his way around an obstacle course of boxes and cans and cartons and plastic bottles, the index finger of his right hand out in front of him.

"Right here," Fred Wyman planted his index finger on a tiny speck on the map, so small in fact that at first Dominic Santini thought it was a grease spot or an ink smudge or maybe even a squashed fly.

He leaned in closer and peered myopically at the map, but the community of Weaver was so small it obviously did not rate a mention on the map and Santini suspected that you had to know it was there or you would have missed it.

"Just follow the highway, here," Wyman traced his finger along a winding route from the airport, through the local town and then out into the mountains, which Santini immediately recognized from the larger map that he and Meg and Cait had been studying back in the office at Santini Air the previous night.

"Thanks for your help, Mr Wyman," Dominic Santini was reaching into the back pocket of his pants now, pulling out his wallet and taking out a crisp new twenty dollar bill, offering it to the old man with sincere thanks. "I know we would never have found that place by ourselves."

"Too right. These days most folks only find Weaver by accident," Wyman took the bill from Santini's fingers and nodded in approval of the denomination. "Nobody goes there on purpose, unless of course they live there," he chuckled. "Makes ya wonder how they survive some times it's so isolated and remote out thataway. Give the young fella my regards when ya find him."

"We will. Thanks. Look, can you take care of my chopper while we go looking for Hawke? It's the fancy looking Bell Jet Ranger, can't miss it. It's the one with the stars and strips and my name all over it," Santini smiled now, relief flooding through him, now that he had a definite destination in mind.

"Here," he opened his wallet once more and pulled out another twenty and handed it to Fred Wyman. "Can you tie her down and make sure she's gassed up ready for when we come back?"

"How long are you gonna be?" Wyman asked, taking the bill and folding it together with the other one in his gnarled hand.

"As long as it takes, I guess," Santini shrugged vaguely.

"That's just what he said!" Wyman chuckled. "I'll do as you ask, but you gotta pay for the fuel at the main office."

"Already done," Santini raised his right hand to his brow and offered the older man a respectful salute. "Thanks."

0-0-0-0

Megan and Dominic waved back at Fred Wyman as they walked out of the store room and strode casually back down the strip making for the main airport buildings and once they had got some distance between them selves and the hangar, they turned to each other, grinning like silly children.

"Weaver?" they said together, chuckling softly.

"I should have thought of it myself, Dom. A woman, sitting at a loom weaving cloth," Megan exclaimed, raising her hands in the air in frustration. "I should have been able to work it out, " she sighed deeply. "I'm sorry. We wasted so much time."

"No we didn't. You know as well as I do that we didn't see any such place on the map, or we would have made the connection there and then," Santini reminded.

"So, what now?"

"I hired us a car when I went by the rental office, so I guess we're off to Weaver," Santini smiled, casually draping his arm around her shoulders and drawing her close as they speeded up their pace a little and headed for the car rental office.

As they walked, arms around each other, a spring in their step, Dominic Santini suddenly turned to Megan Ravenson, an expression of such deep relief and gratitude on his face now as he fixed her with soft, brown eyes.

"Still think your dream was whacky?" he asked in all seriousness.

"More cryptic, I guess," Megan conceded as she smiled back at him, deeply touched by the genuine affection and trust and gratitude that she could see in his eyes and written all over his dear, rumpled old face.

"No, Megan. Not whacky, or cryptic," he held her gaze now. "Prophetic, that's what I'd say," Santini spoke in hushed, reverent tones now. "You have a real gift, Meg, and you should have more faith in yourself. I know you've had to put up with a lot of garbage over the years, but you know that you have a real gift there, Meg, and you shouldn't ever doubt it."

"I don't, Dom," she told him softly. "I don't doubt the gift, only my ability to use it properly and to interpret what I see correctly. There's a difference," she paused to draw in a breath, a breeze suddenly pulling at her hair and she used her free hand to push it off her cheek and back behind her ear.

"I know that I'm only human, Dom, and some times, as you well know, the relevant information comes to me, either too damned cryptic or scrambled for me to decode, or too damned late for it to make any real difference."

"Not this time," Santini pointed out softly.

"Yeah, thank God, or I think this time your friend Hawke would have some justification for wanting to take a few lumps out of me," Megan grinned at him then. "So, are you up to helping me work out the rest of that zany dream I had?"

"Sure thing, honey. Sure thing."

"Good, but before we do anything, don't you think you'd better call the hangar and put Caitlin out of her misery?"

"I guess," Santini sighed, amusement dancing in his eyes now. "You're a helluva gal, Megan Ravenson. I believe I told you that once, a long time ago, and for the life of me, I don't believe I actually let you talk me out of falling in love with you."

There was such tenderness in his voice now and such open love and adoration on his face, it bought Megan Ravenson to a halt, mid stride as she turned to him and regarded him with open mouthed astonishment, suddenly recalling the conversation she had had with Caitlin O'Shannessy, and the direction of her own recent thoughts and again found herself pondering on the possibility that he might perhaps have something of a psychic gift of his own.

Santini regarded her in silence, watching her face for some clue that he had either said the wrong thing, or that she was reconsidering the decision that she had made a long time ago, as he had done many times over in the years since, and then getting absolutely no clue from her expression, reached out with a noticeably shaky hand and caressed her cheek, then cupped her chin, trapping her as he lowered his head and gently brushed her lips with his own, deciding that he had nothing to lose after all, and possibly everything to gain.

"You're a helluva guy too, Dominic Santini," Megan breathed, blinking rapidly several times as he drew away from her. "And you'll make someone a fine catch, some day," she continued to breathe raggedly, obviously taken aback by his boldness, a little flustered and more than a little flattered, the breeze again tugging at her hair and pulling her bangs across her cheek which was suddenly blooming into color.

"You know just how hard it was to stop myself from falling in love with you too," Megan reminded him in a voice made low and rough with emotion. "And there isn't a day goes by that I don't think about it," she told him honestly.

It was true.

She did think about him, often, about how sweet he had been, how charming and attentive and supportive too and, silently acknowledged to herself that there also wasn't a day that went by when she didn't regret her decision, just a little.

"You made the right decision, honey, I understand that. You don't need to lumber yourself with a grumpy old crock like me," he dropped his head, briefly, hiding his true feelings from her and Megan found herself growing irritated with him now.

"Age had nothing to do with my decision, Dom, after all, I'm hardly in the first flush of youth myself, and sometimes, us more mature ladies go for older men, because they're more …."

"Grateful?" Santini cut in, raising his face once more.

"Attentive. They're way more attentive, Dom," Megan could not stop herself from smiling now, he looked so naïve and innocent standing there with a bashful grin on his face, something that he had obviously learned from his young friend, Hawke.

"And grateful," Santini grinned back.

"You're right though, Dom, I did make the right decision. We made the right decision, and you know why. It's just too hard, too much to ask of anyone, especially you. It was a selfish decision, made by a woman who couldn't face any more disappointment or rejection," she told him solemnly now, reaching up to cup his dear face, her eyes beseeching him to understand.

Megan regarded him with steady grey eyes, knowing that this was their moment of truth, and that no matter how much she loved him, her heart had accepted that their opportunity was long gone, and that it would be unfair to him to encourage something a little more romantic between them when she still believed that there was no future for them, and she dropped her hand, if a little reluctantly.

"Self preservation."

"And saving you from a whole heap of grief too, Dom."

"I'd gladly take any kind of grief, from you, Megan, if it meant having you in my life," Santini confessed on a ragged breath now and suddenly, Megan felt her eyes sting with tears as she heard the sincerity in his voice and saw for herself the love and tenderness he felt for her shining from his soft, brown eyes.

She felt her heart miss a beat as it crossed her mind that perhaps it wasn't too late for them after all, then acting on impulse, not trusting herself to speak, she reached out and took both of his hands in her own, squeezing them gently as she looked up into his hopeful face.

She took a small step forward and standing on tiptoes pressed a soft kiss to his rough old cheek and then pulled away from him, watching as something stronger than hope flashed through his eyes and he blinked rapidly in confusion a couple of times before he looked back at her questioningly, and she suddenly realized that she had gone and done exactly what she had been trying so hard not to do, and that she was going to have to spell it out for him.

"I love you, Meg," he confessed, taking a step toward her, encouraged by her reaction to his advances. " You know that I would never hurt you, Megan, me amore?"

"I love you too, Dom," she responded quickly. "And yes, I know that, but I can't make you the same promise. I can't promise that I won't break your heart, no matter how hard I tried not to," she confessed sadly now, tears slipping through her fine lashes and splashing down onto her cheeks.

"I guess there's no fool like an old fool," Santini spoke raggedly now, gazing forlornly into her lovely face, knowing that he had misread the situation badly and that not only had he allowed this wonderful young woman to slip through his fingers when he had had the chance, but that he had also just made a complete ass of himself.

_**What was he thinking? **_

_**He was almost old enough to be her father! How could he expect her to feel the same way about him?**_

_**He was also old enough to know better.**_

"You're no fool, Dominic Santini!"

This got his attention once again and he studied Megan's face carefully for any sign that she was merely trying to placate him.

However, along with the tears sliding down her cheeks, what he saw there was sincerity, mingled with more than a little sorrow and regret, as she let out a long, heavy sigh.

"Oh hell, yes, we could fool around a little, fool each other and ourselves for a little while, but then one day you'd wake up and wonder what you were doing with me, and then you would start to have doubts, that I didn't love you enough, or in quite the same way. This gift of mine would pretty soon start to make your life miserable," Santini opened his mouth to protest but then thought better of it and allowed her to continue, noting the determination in her eyes and the need to say what was on her mind.

"My night terrors, and often that is what they are, Dom, terrifyingly vivid dreams, they would disturbing your sleep, and after a while you would be dividing your time between worrying over what they do to me and getting frustrated and angry because you can't ever get an unbroken night's sleep."

"Then there are the visions intruding, sometimes in the middle of a conversation, driving you nuts, and I'd be dashing off here there and everywhere helping other folks, often times forgetting all about you, needing to chase down some clue or another, and you'd start to resent the time I spent with them and not with you, and I know that you would just get so tired of people coming up to me in the street, begging me for help, or calling me a witch, or making rude comments when we walked into a room."

Megan paused for a moment to draw a breath, her expression one of genuine sadness and regret now, and Santini realized that she was speaking from experience, that that was how her marriage to Tony had ended, with bitterness and resentment because he could not compete for his wife's attention over the needs of others.

He wanted to tell her that she was wrong, that he wasn't that kind of guy, that he would support her and cherish her for the rest of his days, satisfied with whatever time she was able to give him, because he loved her and would accept her into his life no matter what.

However, then he began to realize that that would not be enough for Megan. She was an all or nothing kind of gal, needing to completely devote herself to the important things in her life, and no matter how she might resent it, her gift was probably the most important thing to her, and she was trying to let him know that she would never be happy in any relationship that placed the man she loved as secondary to that gift, and so she had learned to live without male companionship.

Then he remembered his own crazy lifestyle, the sudden disappearances, the secrecy and the potential dangers and asked himself if it would be fair to expose Megan to that kind of existence too, and if he was ready to give that up for her.

Even as he silently asked himself the question, Dominic Santini knew the answer.

The adventures he had with Hawke and Caitlin and the Lady were the only things still keeping him young and made him feel really alive, and whilst he was aware of and accepted the dangers, he knew that it would not be fair to expose Megan to that covert side of his life.

If she feared that her gift would drive a wedge between them, he was certain that the fear and uncertainty she would experience knowing that he was up to something that even if it threatened his life he could not talk to her about, would also sour their relationship in the long run, no matter how understanding she was.

"Pretty soon you'd see that no matter how rosy you thought our little world was, real life really isn't like that, and you would be hurt, justifiably so, and then we would start hurting each other."

She paused to draw in a refreshing breath and dash away her tears, and Santini remained silent, waiting to hear her out.

"You've already indicated that your age is a barrier, for you, not me, but it's already there in your mind, Dom, so, maybe you'd see me with some other guy, a younger guy, and start to wonder what I was really thinking, and I'd see suspicion and distrust in your eyes, and before we knew it, love would turn to hatred, and we would both have lost something far too precious," she paused to draw in another quick breath, her over bright eyes once again beseeching him to allow her to finish.

"Frankly, Dom, I love you too much to put you through that and lose your respect and your friendship as well. You are too dear to me for me to allow that to happen, and I respect you too much not to tell you the truth. Yes, I love you, Dominic," she paused, briefly to allow him to take in what she was saying because from this point on she did not want there to be any misunderstandings.

"You're a wonderful old rascal, charming, witty, sincere and so thoughtful and considerate, and if there was ever a man who gave me reason to regret my decision to remain single after Tony left, it was you, but, we made our decision Dom, maybe not for the right reasons, but we did, and we both moved on. No regrets. That's what we said," she reminded him gently now giving his hand a gentle squeeze.

"And if I lost your friendship, Dominic that would be more than I could bear. I won't do anything to jeopardize that, do you understand me? No matter how much I love you, or how lonely I am or how tough life gets. Capice?"

"Yeah. I understand," he raised his hand to lightly trace her still damp cheek with the tips of his fingers. "Cara," he added in a whispered breath.

"I'm sorry, Dom, I don't want to hurt you, and I don't want to give you the wrong impression," she reached up now and covered his hand lightly with her own, pressing it gently against her cheek.

"Ti amo, amore mio. I love you, my love, and you mean so much more to me than someone to just fool around with, and you deserve more than I could ever give you. You deserve more than empty promises and false hopes, old friend, so please; can we just keep things the way they are?"

"Yeah. Sure thing, Bella," Santini acquiesced, sighing deeply, unable to conceal his disappointment from her for just a moment, but as she gazed back up into his dear face, Megan could still see the affection and respect that he had for her in his eyes, and she knew that he really did understand and that she had done the right thing, as she removed her hand from on top of his and smiled lovingly at him.

Santini waited for one more heart beat before he too dropped his hand from her cheek, heartened by the fact that she had not shied away from him and slapped him around the chops because she had been so reviled and disgusted by his very touch and outraged at his barefaced audacity, and more than a little encouraged to know that she did have feelings for him and that their friendship was strong enough to endure no matter what, and then drawing in a slow, steadying breath, he allowed his rumpled features to curve into a gentle smile.

He could live with that.

"Hey, I didn't know that you could speak Italian?"

He quickly decided to change the subject, genuinely pleased that she had chosen to tell him of her true feelings in such a romantic and familiar language, as they set off walking toward the car rental office in the main block of airport buildings, and Megan Ravenson smiled knowingly at Dominic Santini as she once again slipped her arm through his as they continued walking, knowing that this time he didn't need to be told that she had fallen in love with his language as well as with him all those years ago.

0-0-0-0

"We got lucky at this end," Dominic Santini shouted into the mouthpiece of the telephone receiver, trying to make himself heard over the noise of a Cessna engine firing up in the background.

He had found a payphone not far from the airfield, after picking up the car and leaving the rental office and had decided to do as Megan Ravenson had suggested and call Caitlin O'Shannessy to fill her in on what they had learned since their arrival.

Megan was sitting in the rental car, a black four door sedan which he had parked on the roadside a few feet away from the telephone booth, waiting for him, watching through her half open window and smiling gently at him as he had dialed the number and waited for the operator to connect him to the Santini Air number, and then for Caitlin to answer at the other end.

He had not had to wait long. She must have been sitting right on it, he deduced, for she had answered even before the end of the first ring.

"We found the Hughes Hawke flew up here, and the folks here remembered him," he continued to shout. "We found out that he was making for some place called Weaver so we're heading on up there now."

"Give me a map reference, Dom," Caitlin demanded breathlessly.

"Why?"

"Why? 'Cos I want to send you a knitting pattern! Why!" Caitlin grouched into the telephone. "Whyd'ya think!"

"Caitlin!" Santini snarled, already knowing what she was thinking. "Stay put!"

"No, Dom, I'm done sitting around here tearing my hair out waiting for other people to fill me in. I'm gonna go get the Lady and come meet you guys," she told him in a cold, tight, defiant voice now.

"Cait," Dominic tried to get a word in but she was still muttering darkly on the other end of the line, and he realized that she had her mind set and that there would be no talking her out of her plan to get Airwolf and hightail it up here to Washington State.

When she got an idea in her head she was as bad as Hawke. Hard to talk to and even more difficult to reason with.

She had the ball and she meant to run with it and heaven help anyone who got in her way!

"No, Dom, it makes sense. We can cover more ground with an aerial search," Caitlin reasoned and he could not deny that she had a point. "Now give me a map reference. Please."

"Ok," Santini sighed heavily, knowing that there was no point arguing with her. Caitlin had her heart set on coming up here and nothing that he might say would deter her, so why waste his breath? "Just give me a minute. I left the map in the car."

Santini held on to the telephone receiver whilst holding the booth door open with his foot giving himself more room to get Megan's attention, but she had been watching him and as he stepped half outside the booth she leaned across the front seats of the car to his open window.

He mouthed and gesticulated to her that he needed the map and so she moved back to her side of the car, opened the glove box and took out the map then opened her door and climbing out, strode around the front of the car, holding the map out to Dominic who took it from her with a warm, relaxed smile before ducking back inside the telephone booth.

A few minutes later Dominic set the telephone receiver down and emerged from the phone booth, rolling his eyes heavenward as Megan regarded him with amusement.

She was leaning against the front fender, again using her hand to shield her eyes from the brightness of the sun as he strode toward her.

"She's coming up here, isn't she?" Megan smiled affectionately in response to his look.

She wasn't surprised.

She had suspected that all it would take for Caitlin to drop everything and come rushing up here would be one firm piece of information. Now she had that information, neither wild horses nor hell or high water would keep her from joining them in the search for the man that she loved.

"Huh? Are you psychic or something?" Santini teased with a chuckle.

"You don't need to be a mind reader to know how she would react. I told you, she loves him, and she's worried for him and scared too, and if I read her right, she isn't the type of gal to sit back and do nothing while other people do her work for her, or to stop her from following her heart."

"Like a runaway train that one," Santini agreed, although secretly he was glad that Caitlin would be bringing Airwolf into the search for Hawke, now that they had a starting point.

Maybe someone in Weaver would remember Hawke and be able to give them a specific location for Charlie Roth's cabin and then they could plot a search area between those two points and use Airwolf's sensitive scanning equipment to try to find Hawke.

"I guess when Cait gets here you won't need me anymore," Megan sighed softly, taking the map from Dominic now and pushing off from the fender.

"Of course we will!" Dominic spoke quickly now. "Megan, we wouldn't have made it this far without you," he reminded her gruffly.

"It's ok, Dom," she placated, walking around the front of the car and opening the passenger side door, stopping to look across the roof of the car to where Dominic was standing on the driver's side, ready to wrench the door open.

"If she's bringing your mistress there won't be room for all of us, especially when we find Hawke," she grinned cheekily at him, recalling her last trip in the magnificent black and white monster helicopter Dominic affectionately referred to as The Lady.

"And I've already had more than my fair share of adventures in **_that_** particular chopper, thank you. Of course, I'll help as much as I can in pinpointing a place to look, but after that, it's up to you and Cait and the Lady," she gave him a knowing smile then, indicating that to her it made perfect sense and was just as it should be, and Santini gave her a brief understanding smile after emitting a deep sigh of resignation.

"So what are we standing around here for?" Megan prompted. "Cait will get there before us at this rate, and if the locals see that helicopter hovering over their town their bound to head for the hills thinking aliens are landing!" she chuckled.

"I told her to find some place quiet and safe to set down and hide the Lady and to walk to town and wait for us. She used to be a cop and I don't want her interrogating the locals before we get there. I love that kid, but some times she has all the subtlety of a bull in a china shop and she has a way of putting people's noses out of joint, forgetting that we need their help!" Santini informed as he opened his door and slid inside the rental car, reaching out to switch on the engine and turn up the air conditioning as he did so, waiting for Megan to settle herself in her seat, buckling up her seat belt and laying the map out at the relevant section on her lap, and then he put the car into gear and started out on what he hoped would be the final leg of his journey to find Stringfellow Hawke.


	20. Chapter 20

**_Chapter Nineteen._**

_**Somewhere in Washington State,**_

_**Shortly after noon.**_

Bridget Goodwin was standing in front of an open cupboard in the kitchen, a frown tugging at her brow as she tried to figure out what to make her nephew Kenny for his lunch.

As she gazed at the meager supplies in the cupboard she could not help comparing herself with Old Mother Hubbard from the nursery rhyme.

_**And when sh**__**e got there, the cupboard was bare!**_

Kenny was a bit of a picky eater, she had discovered in the few days she had been here with him and with so few supplies left in the cupboard, she had a limited choice of menu to offer him.

She had a little of the loaf of bread left, after fixing breakfast for her guest, Buddy, but she had had neither the time nor the motivation to prepare fresh dough, leave it to prove over night and then bake fresh bread this morning.

Kenny was a growing boy who needed a good balanced diet, and that included things like protein and fruit and vegetables, all of which he had told her defiantly that he hated but which she had still set before him telling it was that or nothing, when trying to disguise them with something else had failed miserably and he had quickly caught on. She also didn't really want to keep feeding the child sandwiches or something with toast.

As she stood before the cupboard, scanning various labels on cans and packets, Bridget knew that she was probably going to have to go and check out the small freezer in the shed out back next to the oil fired generator that provided the cabin with electricity, to see what she could find lurking in some dark corner, because at this rate, it was likely to be canned tuna, macaroni cheese or alphabet soup, none of which she found very appealing either.

At least she didn't have to worry about Buddy. He had eaten the scrambled eggs and toast she had set before him, nibbling at them slowly and cautiously at first, but with obvious enjoyment, although he hadn't managed to clear his plate. She suspected that it would be quite a while before he would require anything else.

Uninspired by the cupboard's contents, Bridget's found her mind beginning to wander, firstly, on who her house guest really was, his real name and where he came from.

She thought again about the bracelet that he wore on his right wrist and what it might mean.

A memento mori?

A remembrance for a lost loved one or close friend?

Something about the way that he had kept calling her Ma'am when he had first come around set her thinking now that perhaps he had once been in the military.

Maybe he had been a soldier.

The response had been automatic, like he didn't have to think about it, and now that she thought about it, although it was polite, and there were still some folks who used that kind of formal language, it was fast going out of fashion these days.

Maybe this Sinjin Hawke fellow had been a family member, like a cousin.

She didn't think he could be his brother for when she had mentioned her own brother, Buddy hadn't reacted at all, and when she had asked him if the name felt like his own, surely if Sinjin was his brother, Buddy would have felt some kind of pull from having the same last name.

Hawke.

Maybe this Sinjin guy was someone that Buddy had served in the military with? A close friend? Maybe someone he had gone to school with and then rediscovered in the military?

Who ever he was, he had been important to Buddy, and she could not help thinking that he had been someone close, someone that he had loved and lost.

She would have to try to prod his memory a little. Ask him about Vietnam, and wait for his reaction.

As to what kind of man he was, well, there was no doubt about it, he was polite, very formal and reserved too, but when he allowed himself to relax he was also very pleasant and affable.

He was also well educated, she decided, from the way that he spoke. He was articulate and cultured.

Whoever Buddy turned out to be, Bridget would bet her last dime that he was no hick, and no bum either.

Everything that she knew about him added up to his being a smart guy from a good background. Not rich, because he did not have that kind of high handed attitude and arrogance that smacked of money and privilege, nor did he give the impression that everything had come easily to him and that he had sailed through life.

His face bore out the fact that he had been through some tough times. It had character, as well as being handsome, and there was something in his eyes, a haunted quality that made her think that he had faced his fair share of adversity and grief.

In her opinion, he came from a comfortable background and that he was relatively successful and self confident.

She wouldn't be at all surprised to learn that he was his own boss, or a leader of some kind, for he gave the impression that he was used to commanding attention and not having his word questioned.

He certainly gave the impression that he was used to being the master of his own destiny.

All in all, she was starting to like what she was learning about her house guest.

She was heartened by the fact that he was beginning to remember snippets, like the fact that he was a vegetarian, and of course, that he had a girlfriend called Cait. It was a promising start, but she knew that he was annoyed and frustrated not to know more about himself.

However, inevitably, her mind turned to her nephew, Kenny, where he was and what he might be up to.

She had thought that hunger would have brought him home before now, but when she had stepped out back to check on the laundry, now drying on the line in the backyard, there had been no sign of him or Boomer, and she had told herself that she was really going to have to have stern words with him about his penchant for disappearing for hours on end without giving her a clue as to where he was going.

There was such a thing as freedom, and then there was taking liberties, and although she was aware that her brother had let the boy practically have the run of the mountain, Kenny would have to learn that those days were over and that she needed to know where he was.

She had more or less decided to keep to her original plans to close the cabin down and return to her house in Honesty by tomorrow evening latest, taking Buddy with them. Hopefully he would be up to travelling that short distance, after all, she reasoned, he could continue to recover and regain his strength just as easily on her couch there as here, and she was adamant that Kenny needed to jump straight in to his new life and get used to the way things were going to be from now on.

She could also talk to Sheriff Buchanan to try to find out if anyone had reported Buddy missing in the last couple of days, reasoning with herself that perhaps his girlfriend, Cait, or his family had gotten worried about him and had reported his being out of contact to their local police department.

She would bet on the girlfriend, because she could not believe that any woman would let a man like that out of her sight for five minutes without making him swear that he would keep in touch.

Smiling cheekily, Bridget turned her mind back to Kenny. Now that the moment of truth was almost upon her, the beginning of their new life together, she knew that she was going to have to lay down some ground rules for her nephew to abide by.

_**Aunt Midge, aka the Wicked Witch of the West!**_

Still, she felt that something needed to be done. He needed structure in his life, now more than ever, whether he liked it or not, and so did she.

There was one consolation, Bridget told herself now. There would be fewer opportunities for him to simply disappear out into the wilderness, with school and getting used to his new routine, and her work schedule, and although there were places not too far from the house that might pique his curiosity, there was nothing quite like what lay beyond his doorstep up here, back there in Honesty.

However, she was hoping that he would more than make up for that with the opportunity to interact with other kids of all ages at school, and to make some friends who would make him aware of what distractions and things of interest there were to occupy them close to his new home.

Far from curtailing him, Bridget found herself hoping that it would open up the world to Kenny and broaden his horizons.

Chewing thoughtfully on her lip, still trying to decide what to serve Kenny for his lunch, Bridget was suddenly startled by a loud banging sound that rattled the windows in their frames and echoed and reverberated through the old timbers of the cabin and almost made her jump out of her skin.

_**Speak of the devil! **_

_**Someone needs to teach that child to come like himself, not like a heard of elephants!**_

Then another thought suddenly struck her.

_**Uh oh, Buddy! You made me a promise, dammit!**_

With her heart suddenly thundering in her ears, Bridget turned away from the cupboard, harsh words rising to her lips as she marched toward the archway that divided the kitchen and living area, expecting to see Buddy, crumpled in a heap at the foot of the stairs, having gone back on his word not to try to get to the bathroom alone, or Kenny bolting up the stairs, crossing his legs and tripping over his own feet, making a dash for the bathroom, because he had a tendency to get caught up in his own little world and leave things to the last minute, having left the door wide open and hanging by one hinge.

Some sudden and unexpected sense of foreboding flooded through Bridget as she realized that only a few minutes before, when she had checked on him, Buddy had been dozing peacefully, face relaxed in repose and breathing regularly, and if Kenny was home, why didn't she remember hearing Boomer's usual nonsense announcing the return of his young master?

Something was not quite right, she could feel it.

0-0-0-0

Bridget Goodwin came to an abrupt halt as she passed through the archway, mouth dropping open and eyes growing wide with shock and horror as she took in the scene before her.

Buddy was still lying on the couch where she had left him, but he had obviously been startled awake by the banging noise because he had somehow managed to get himself half upright and had pushed the quilt off himself so that he could swing his legs off the couch. One of his legs was half hanging over the edge now, as if he were frozen in mid movement.

However it was the look on his face that made Bridget's blood run cold in her veins and suddenly made her mouth go very dry.

Bridget quickly took in the horrified expression on his face, mingled with anger, hostility, shock, outrage, all swiftly replaced with regret and despair and futility because he knew that there was nothing that he could do to help, his wide blue eyes never wavering from a fixed point on the other side of the room, lips pressed together in a thin white, angry line.

Bridget swiftly followed his gaze and was immediately startled by what she found there, her heart coming up into her mouth as she let out an audible gasp.

The cabin door was indeed wide open, and standing just inside the doorway, almost completely blocking out the bright mid morning light, were two very big and very rough looking men, one of whom had her nephew Kenny tucked under one armpit, his meaty arm long enough to enable him to have his hand clamped firmly over the child's mouth to keep him quiet.

Horrified, Bridget moved her gaze from where Kenny was kicking and squirming in the man's arm and up to the faces of the two strangers.

If she had found their size intimidating, and feared for the safety of her nephew, the looks on both dirty faces almost stopped her heart dead in her chest, for what she saw there was pure evil.

Both men were of similar size and coloring, both dirty and disheveled, their clothes muddied and ripped and torn, revealing glimpses of huge bulging muscles at the tops of their arms and thighs.

The man holding Kenny was partly obscuring the other man from Bridget's sight, and there was something about his mean, austere expression that held her complete attention and made Bridget's knees suddenly grow weak.

Something about him, warned her that he was a predator of the worst variety, and she realized that he did not care how much he might be hurting the child, so long as the threat got him what he wanted and needed.

The man had his arm hooked around Kenny's thin immature body, no doubt crushing his tiny ribcage and squeezing the air out of his lungs like a vice, but still the boy was putting up a fight, kicking and wriggling and squirming, trying to break free, and trying to make as much noise as he could, even though he had the man's meaty hand over his mouth, muffling the sound, his face bright red from exertion and shortness of breath and his blue eyes bulging in his terrified face.

"What the hell? Who are you? What's going on!" Bridget exclaimed in horror, the words tumbling from her lips as she took a small step forward.

However even as she moved, so did both men, swiftly producing weapons from behind their backs, and Bridget realized that that must have been why Kenny was kicking up such a fuss. He had been trying to warn her.

Now, she watched with horror as the man still holding on tightly to Kenny produced a shotgun from behind his back, where it had been tucked into the waist band of his pants, pulling it up and over his shoulder in one swift, fluid movement and aimed it squarely at the center of her chest while his companion produced a smaller handgun, something that looked similar to the kind of thing that she had seen the local police carrying in holsters around their waists.

She heard the guns being cocked as the other man stepped out from behind his companion now, showing himself properly for the first time, and Bridget found herself swallowing down hard as she saw the large blood stain on the man's left shoulder and watched his right hand shake just a little as he moved his upper body, twisting slightly as he aimed the gun directly at Buddy's head.

"Hold it right there!" the man with the shotgun snarled, hitching the wriggling Kenny up a little higher under his armpit. "And you, don't be a hero!" he directed his attention to Buddy, who was trying to rise from the couch once more, even though he had a gun pointed at his head.

However, even though he had told her that he was feeling much better, it was obvious from the pained expression on his face, wincing and breathless, perspiration dampening his fringe and the color simply draining from his face leaving him ashen, that he was in no condition to be thinking of putting up a fight and that he was still very weak and unsteady.

"Hey, kid, quit squirmin' will ya, or I'll break your scrawny neck!"

The guy with the shotgun kept his weapon and his gaze fixed firmly on Bridget as he snarled at the child, and Bridget immediately felt the tension levels in the room rise considerably.

Dragging in a calming breath, her hands shaking as she held her arms rigidly down by her side and realizing that this was no prank, Bridget waited for Kenny to look in her direction and then pinned him with what she hoped was a reassuring look, whilst also pleading silently with him to do as he was told for once, and stop struggling, lest he hurt himself.

Bridget opened her mouth to speak, however before she could think of something to say to try to diffuse the situation, Buddy chose that moment to assert himself.

"Kenny, son," he spoke in low, gruff, fatherly tones, drawing the boy's wide, terrified eyes away from Bridget now. "Do as you're told, son. You're scaring your Momma to death," he gave the child a meaningful look and a slow half smile then directed his gaze across the room to where Bridget was standing, also giving her a pointed look, indicating that he needed her to play along with him, for now.

For one brief instant, Bridget wavered, not knowing what to do for the best.

She didn't know what Buddy was thinking, but she suspected that the two strangers would not be above using any family relationship against them to get what they wanted.

They probably believed that they could use threats of violence against any one of them to make the others co-operate, believing that both adults would do whatever was necessary to protect their child from harm and that the man would protect his woman and she would protect her man too.

Bridget stared back at Buddy in silence for a split second and saw him blink slowly once in acknowledgement that he understood her reticence and her uncertainty about whether or not to trust him and that he had also seen what she was thinking flash through her eyes too.

Bridget suddenly realized that if these men believed they were a family, they would feel confident that they could control them all better and use their fear against them to get what they wanted, and that maybe, while they were so cock sure of their complete control and their ability to manipulate the situation, they might let down there guard and present Buddy and herself with an opportunity to either overcome them, or to try to get away.

"Your Pa's right, Kenny," Bridget spoke in a ragged, breathy voice, shooting an understanding look in Buddy's direction before returning her dark sapphire blue eyes to the child, praying that he would understand what the adults were up to and play along, or at the very least not give the game away by pointing out that she wasn't his mother and Buddy wasn't his real Dad.

It was obvious to her that the child was terrified and bewildered, tears coursing down his flushed cheeks, blinking rapidly and still struggling and she was afraid that he would let something slip that might just get them all killed.

"It's ok, baby. Just do as the man says," she implored the child, trying to force him to focus his attention on her and nothing else.

"That's right. You listen to your folk's kid," the man with the shotgun gave the boy another deliberate, hard squeeze. "Everybody just relax and do as they're told, and no-one will get hurt."

0-0-0-0

"Ok, now that you've gotten our attention," Buddy was still trying to get his breath back, carefully raising his leg back up on to the couch as he addressed the guy with the shotgun, his eyes never leaving the other man's face. "Why don't you let the boy down, and tell us what we can do for you," he spoke in low, even and reasonable tones, maintaining eye contact with the intruder.

The man did not respond, and Buddy watched patiently as the intruder obviously weighed up if he would be losing the upper hand if he did as the man on the couch asked, and saw the glitter of triumph flare briefly in the man's beady black eyes as he realized that he had succeeded in securing his position with his opening gambit with little or no resistance.

"Now that's more like it," the man with the shotgun smiled, but it was not a pleasant sight. Cold, and calculating, smug and self satisfied and totally lacking in any kind of humor.

"There ya go, kid," he slowly began to lower the child, bending his knees and allowing Kenny's legs to dangle until his toes were skimming the wooden floor boards. "Go make your Momma's life a misery. I'm sick of hearing your bellyaching!"

As soon as Kenny's feet came into contact properly with solid ground and he felt the man's iron grip around his chest begin to relax, the boy span around and in one fluid movement drew back his right leg and then launched it at his captor, giving him a really sweet kick in the shins.

"Kenny!" Bridget shrieked, half in elation, proud of his bravery and spirit and half in mind numbing terror, then quickly dropped to her haunches, waving her arms frantically, beckoning the child to her, opening her arms to receive him as he bolted across the living room and threw himself into her body, screaming at the top of his lungs as he almost knocked her off her feet and succeeded in knocking the wind out of her, briefly.

"They killed Boomer! They killed Boomer!" he sobbed brokenly as he buried his face into her clothes and she wrapped her arm around him, pulling him in tight to her, staring with accusing dark blue eyes at the intruder over the child's bowed head.

He had been forced to lower his shotgun so that he could grab his sore leg and was hopping up and down on the spot, a maniacal grin on his face and rage glittering in his eyes as he watched the woman draw the child even closer to her.

"Ya got guts, kid. I'll give ya that! I understand, a man has to do what a man has to do when he loses his best friend. You're dog was your best friend, I understand that, but you mind me now, boy, you try anything like that again and I'll blow your Daddy's brains out!"

"That's enough!" Buddy snarled in outrage now, a cold edge to his voice that Bridget had not heard before and an icy glint in his eyes. "He's just a kid. Leave him out of this."

"Would that we could, pal, but that's one smart kid you got there. Smart mouth and fast too, had to chase this little critter half way down the mountain before I caught up with him. I didn't mean to hurt the young fella, but I couldn't just let him go hightailin' off to town to fetch the cops now, could I?"

"He was probably terrified. Did you really have to kill his dog?"

The man with the shotgun lazily lifted one shoulder, indicating that it had meant nothing to him, but the cold, ruthless look he gave to the man on the couch now, told Buddy that if he had thought it necessary, he would have killed the boy too, without so much as turning a hair.

"Darned mutt was making more noise than the kid was. Had to teach the boy a lesson. Show him what would happen if he didn't shut up and do as he was told," his lips twisted into a nasty smirk now.

Buddy arched one eyebrow cynically and threw the man a speculative look that told him all too clearly that he knew that his rough treatment of the boy had probably had the opposite effect, scaring the life out of him and making it even harder to reason with him and control him.

"I'm not familiar with these parts, mister. I didn't know if the kid's ruckus and the dog's howlin' would bring all kinds of hell down on us."

"Look, we don't care who you are, or what you've done, just tell us what you want and then leave us in peace!"

Bridget found her voice at last, low and rough, throbbing with the mixed emotions of abject terror and stinging outrage that she was feeling as she continued to cradle Kenny to her, gently stroking the back of his head as he continued to sob brokenly into her clothes.

"Well, thank you kindly Ma'am, but ya see, we don't care if you care or not. We was kinda countin' on your hospitality for a while. You do as we say and give us what we want, and we will maybe consider not killin' ya. But let's get one thing straight. Don't be getting' no fancy ideas. My friend here has a real itchy trigger finger and zero patience. You so much as twitch without our say so and …" he allowed his voice to trail away, but his meaning was all too clear and Bridget suddenly found herself swallowing convulsively.

"Good. Good. Glad you're seein' things our way. We're gonna get along real fine," shotgun man raked his eyes hungrily up and down Bridget's petite frame and then winked at her.

Bridget immediately felt a shudder of revulsion run down her spine as she interpreted the man's carnal look correctly.

Her instincts had been good. He was a predator, of the worst kind, and a cold hand of terror suddenly squeezed at her heart.

"Nobody's goin' anywhere, so why don't we make ourselves at home?"

"Why don't you let the woman and the boy go?" Buddy spoke up quickly now, not liking the way the man was staring at Bridget, some sixth sense telling him that she had suddenly become the man's main focus of attention, and not in a good way, and although he wasn't sure why, he sensed that she was probably in the greatest danger from these two ruffians and that idea suddenly filled him with anxiety and burning rage.

He didn't know why, but that same instinct was telling him that he had to try to make sure that Bridget was never alone with either of them.

"Nobody's going anywhere," shotgun man growled now, leaving them in no doubt that he was the man in charge, lifting the end of the barrel of his weapon, this time taking aim at Buddy's head, while his friend altered his position slightly to take aim at Kenny and Bridget on the other side of the room.

Shotgun man stared at Buddy silently for several seconds, taking in the way that he was lying on the couch, dressed in pajamas, a hand stitched quilt covering him modestly from the waist down.

He could see the pain etched into the man's rugged features and guessed from the bandage wound around his head, and the paleness of his face beneath his tan that despite the fact that he looked fit, lean and wiry and muscular, right now he was weak and sickly and would cause them no trouble.

Buddy silently endured the man's scrutiny, his lips clamped together in a tight line, willing himself not to show any sign of the defiance or rage that was coursing through him, although he could feel the muscles along his jaw line working hard as he silently ground his teeth and fought back the need to retaliate and take the man down.

He knew that that would not work.

Even if he could tackle shotgun man and bring him down, his friend still had the handgun and would probably not hesitate to use it on Bridget or Kenny.

He wanted the man with the shotgun to think that he was meek, controllable, easily manipulated, that he would do anything to protect his family, and watching the man's face carefully, he was instantly aware of the exact moment when the intruder dismissed him as a threat and began to believe that he and his cohort were home free.

_**That's your first mistake, pal!**_

"Like I said," shotgun man slid his eyes back across the room to settle on Bridget and Kenny, ignoring the man on the couch. He watched her expression carefully, and Bridget realized that he was trying to ascertain how much she cared for her husband and how he could use that to his advantage. "Every body does as they're told, nobody gets hurt. But if you don't …."

Shotgun man's voice trailed away as he curled his finger around the trigger of his weapon, the barrel steady and aimed directly at Buddy's head, even though he was still watching Bridget, whose immediate response was to place her hand on the back of Kenny's head so that he could not twist around and see what was happening, swallowing hard again as she realized the man's intention, watching in horror as shotgun man pretended to pull back the trigger, silently mouthing the word 'bang' as he did so.

"No!" Bridget shrieked closing her eyes and twisting her body away as she pretended to will herself not to faint, deliberately making her hands shake and her knees buckle a little so that she swayed, curving the top half of her body protectively over Kenny, knowing that it was exactly what shotgun man needed to see.

A loving wife terrified for her husband's life, unable to watch, her imagination vividly presenting her with images of his head exploding, and no longer harboring any doubts about what would happen if they did not co-operate with the intruders.

"For God's sake!" she sobbed brokenly as she turned back, her eyes seeking out Buddy on the couch who was looking even paler, the glitter of his eyes indicating to his barely controlled rage.

Shotgun man dropped the barrel of his gun and threw back his head, laughing raucously, obviously very pleased with himself and the reaction that he had gotten from his captives.

"I think they finally get the picture!" he addressed himself to his friend, then pulling himself together, he returned his attention to Bridget.

"We need food and something to drink," he became suddenly very businesslike as he laid out his demands to Bridget. "Coffee would be good. Beer would be better," he grinned manically once again, revealing uneven, brown teeth with several gaps both top and bottom.

"I'm Frank. This here's Jesse," he indicated with his thumb over his shoulder to where his companion was still aiming the handgun at Bridget and Kenny, but the sick sneer on his face told Buddy and Bridget that those were not their real names. "The James boys just blew into town!"

Again he threw back his head and laughed raucously at his own joke, and Bridget took the opportunity to shoot a questioning glance in Buddy's direction.

In response, he closed his eyes, briefly, then opened them once again to regard her steadily and calmly and Bridget drew in a quick, ragged breath, drawing on his calmness as she did so, and then offered him a weak, reassuring smile, silently indicating to him that she would play along with the charade that they were a happy family because she understood now that it was the only way to ensure everyone's safety, silently offering up a prayer that he too would trust her and play along with whatever she might come up with from this point on.

If they really were a family, she could count on some protection from the supposed loving relationship between husband and wife, but if the intruders suspected for even a second that they were not as they appeared, then they would in all probability kill Buddy, as they had killed Boomer, to terrify her and control her with fear and she and Kenny would be even more vulnerable.

"Jesse here, he's got a hole in his shoulder that could use patching up," again his lips twisted into a nasty smirk. "We'd be obliged Ma'am if you could administer a little TLC. That should keep you busy for a while. You," he dropped his gaze now to allow it to rest on the back of Kenny's head. "Boy? What's your name again? Oh yeah, Kenny. You go sit with your Pa while you're Momma gets started."

Grudgingly, Bridget eased the boy away from her and nodded gently at him when he raised tear filled, questioning eyes to her.

"It's ok, honey," she spoke softly now, raising her hands to lightly cup his face, stroking the tears from his cheeks, deliberately keeping her voice light and devoid of the anger and hostility and fear that was still coursing through her, and then smiled at him, moving her hands now to ruffle his hair lightly. "Go keep Pa company."

She carefully turned the child's thin body and pointed him in the direction of the couch, giving his backside a gentle push to encourage him to move.

As Kenny reluctantly walked away from her, Bridget watched the man with the shotgun, the one who had identified himself as Frank, as he too watched the boy walk slowly to the couch and the man who was supposed to be his father, praying that Kenny would not slip up and give the game away.

However, as Kenny got closer, Buddy eased himself up into a more comfortable position, leaning against the arm of the couch, then reached out to Kenny, opening his arms invitingly and the boy speeded up his pace a little, willingly allowing Buddy to wrap his arms around him gently and lift him carefully up on to the couch.

Bridget watched as Buddy wrapped his arms about the boy and drew him close for a bear hug, his lips pressing a soft kiss into the child's cheek, close to his ear, and she suspected that he was whispering something to Kenny, guessing that he was praising him for his bravery and for being so smart in realizing that he needed to play along with what his Aunt was saying.

Bridget also found herself hoping that he was reassuring Kenny that all would be well so long as he did as he was asked and played along with whatever he or his Aunt said, even if he did not really understand or he knew that it was not right.

After a few moments Kenny pulled far enough away to plant a kiss of his own on Buddy's stubble covered cheek before moving away and settling himself on his 'father's' lap and Bridget was relieved to see trust and something akin to hero worship in his bright blue eyes as he gazed back at Buddy, who again smiled benignly at the child and then reached out and ruffled his hair gently.

Bridget let out a soft sigh of relief at their convincing performance and again threw Buddy a small smile, and despite the wince on his face, caused by Kenny's squirming to get comfortable in his lap and his awkward, bony little elbows coming into contact with his sore ribs, Buddy gave her a reassuring wink.

"Where's your TV?" Frank demanded now, shifting his gaze away from Kenny and Buddy on the couch to scour the living area for signs of a television set.

"We don't have one," Bridget told him honestly. "Mountains make reception bad, and we can't get cable up here yet," she explained in response to the disbelieving look on his face now, and she suddenly gulped involuntarily.

"What about a radio?" he demanded as he raised an eyebrow cynically now.

"Short wave. In the kitchen. For emergencies," she deliberately kept her answers short and to the point so that he would not hear the fear and uncertainty in her voice.

"What about a transistor radio?"

"Some where," Bridget sighed as he continued to gawp at her as though he could not believe that there was anywhere these days that did not have a television set or a transistor radio. "Don't use it much."

It was true.

She had bought George a decent model a few years ago, so that he could at least keep in contact with what was going on with the world outside, but she had no idea what George had done with it.

Knowing her brother, it was still in the box some place, although now that she stopped and thought about it, she couldn't recall having seen it lying around anywhere when she had been cleaning the place out and filling the packing cases and cartons, which probably meant that he had traded it for food or some other necessity.

"Don't you folks listen to music? The news?" Frank demanded in incredulity.

"No. Not much. Between the mountains and the weather up here, reception is pretty bad. Static mostly," Bridget pointed out now.

"Terrific," Frank snarled, shooting a quick glance to his companion, and Bridget used the opportunity to cast a quick glance over to the couch where Kenny was now sitting quietly on Buddy's lap, the man's arm loosely draped around his waist, but ready to restrain him if he should suddenly get brave and try something a little more daring than kicking Frank in the shins again.

Bridget sought, and found Buddy's eyes, and realized that he was thinking the same thing that she was.

These two men were on the run. They had done something criminal, and now they were on the lam, and they needed to know if the cops were on their tail and closing in on them.

Bridget felt her heart trip in her breast as she realized that that was definitely not good news for any of them.

If the cops really were looking for these two, it would make them pretty desperate about now.

"Geez, I'm surprised you guys even have electricity!" Frank ground out sarcastically now.

"We don't, at least not from the main grid. The power company can't get power lines up here, but we have an oil generator out back," Bridget told him without thinking. "It suits our simple needs," she added with a soft sigh.

"No sweat," Frank now gave another brief shrug, dismissing the matter from his mind and turned his attention to his other more important needs. "So lady, what's good to eat around here?" he pinned her with expectant black eyes now, and again Bridget felt her heart drop.

"I'm afraid that we don't have much," she mumbled, casting her eyes down when she saw the look of irritation on the intruder's face, and watched through her lashes as his shoulders rose in a deep sigh of frustration.

"You don't exactly look like you're starvin' to me!" he ground out, raising the shotgun once more and pointing it directly at her chest. "You wouldn't be lyin' to me now, would you, lady?" his voice was low and deep and gravel rough, and when she raised her eyes to look at him, Bridget could see the glint in his small, beady black eyes and a shudder ran down her spine.

"No, sir. I'm not lying to you. Times have been a little hard lately, that's all," she explained slowly and patiently, trying to keep both her tone and her breathing even, despite the fact that she was terrified.

"If you hadn't noticed, we had a fire here, a little over a week ago," she continued, holding Frank's gaze as she did so. "We lost all of our stock and most of our supplies, and Buddy got hurt," she moved her eyes to the man on the couch and noted that both he and the boy were watching and listening to the proceedings intently, taking their cue from her now, and as she again caught his eye, Bridget thought that she saw Buddy giving her a gentle, almost imperceptible nod of approval, letting her know that she was doing ok.

"We have no money for doctors or hospital bills, so I've been taking care of him here," which was the truth, so far as it went. "And that hasn't left me with a lot of time to do anything, including going to the store for supplies," she concluded, dragging her eyes back to Frank's unpleasant face, raising her chin slightly in defiance now, letting him know that they were strong people who had learned to tough things out and that this was just another one of many set backs they had had to face out here in the wilderness, and that they had survived.

As she did so, Bridget drew in a long, calming breath, and marveled at her ability to think on her feet and to lie so easily.

She hadn't known that she had it in her!

_**After this, motherhood was going to be a piece of cake**__, she found herself thinking somewhat hysterically, _then reined in her wayward thoughts and forced herself to focus on the situation.

"You're Buddy, huh?" Frank stared at the man on the couch, who nodded quickly in response. "That you're real name or a pet name?"

"Real name," Bridget cut in quickly, reading the uncertainty in Buddy's face now, but only shrugged vaguely, offering no explanation when Frank arched an eyebrow in inquiry.

"Ok, And what about you, lady?" Frank returned his attention to Bridget now. "What's your name?" he demanded.

"Midge," she replied immediately, without hesitation, somehow not wanting this creep to know her proper name.

"Now ain't that quaint! We're all friends together now. Buddy and Midge and Kenny, and me and Jesse," his lips twisted in to a nasty grin now, but to Bridget's eternal relief, he relaxed a little, replacing the safety catch on the shotgun and lowering the barrel, and suddenly Bridget experienced a flare of irrational anger that this man had so quickly judged them as weak and had dismissed them from his mind as any kind of threat.

He thought that he was so much smarter and stronger and better. Superior. He obviously thought they were simple, backward people living in the stone age. That thought made Bridget's blood boil. How dare he come barging in to her home and stand in judgment of her and her family, only to so easily dismiss them as insignificant.

However, Bridget knew that she must not allow her true feelings of contempt and disgust to show through. It wouldn't help matters any, and it might just have the undesirable affect of making him angry, and Bridget had no doubts about what would he was capable of doing if that should happen.

"Well, Midge, I could eat a horse, so I tell ya what I'm gonna do. I'm gonna leave Jesse in here with the rest of the gang, and you and me are gonna see what we can rustle up."

However, from the leer on his face and the glint in his eyes, Bridget was left with no doubt that at that moment food was the furthest thing from Frank's mind, and her heart skipped a beat, and this time her knees really did threaten to let her down.

She didn't need to be a mind reader to know his true intentions and she knew that she was in real trouble, desperately wracking her brain for a way to save herself from his unwanted intentions.

She shot a quick sideways glance to where Buddy and Kenny still sat on the couch and knew instantly from the hard set of Buddy's expression that he knew exactly what was on the intruder's mind.

Fear and outrage flashed through his eyes, along with an apology as he realized that in his present physical condition he would not be much use in physically protecting her from any kind of assault on her person.

_**You're on your own with this one**__**, kiddo! **_

Her heart slammed against her ribs and her knees grew weak once more as she cast her eyes back to where Frank was standing, taking in his big bulky frame and the massive muscles of his arms and legs, knowing as she did so that she would be no match for him if he should decide to make a move on her.

Physically she was always going to come out second best, she acknowledged silently, another tremor travelling down the length of her spine, so, she had to find some other way to keep him at bay.

_**C'mon woman, think! Think dammit! You have to think of something, some way to keep his dirty paws off you!**_

_**Use your head, gal, and think fast!**_


	21. Chapter 21

**_Chapter Twenty._**

_**On a highway, some where in Washington State,**_

_**Approximately 12.30pm.**_

"Boy, it really _**is**_ green," Megan Ravenson commented as she tried to relax in her seat, watching endless tracts of tree lined mountain scenery flash past her window.

Any other time, she would have found the view breath taking, but for the last half an hour or so, a feeling of inexplicable anxiety had settled over her.

She felt nervous and impatient to get to their destination, but whilst he too was obviously keen to get to Weaver, because of the unfamiliar and dangerous winding and twisting mountain route, Dominic Santini had stayed well within the recommended speed limit and after stopping briefly for a quick snack and a bathroom break, they had only been on the road for a little over thirty minutes and they still had an awfully long way to go.

They were looking at covering something in the region of two hundred miles, and Megan knew that they were not going to get there in five minutes, so she had insisted that they make themselves comfortable before they set off. So after making the phone call to Cait they had found a diner and ordered take out to eat in the car, and then once they had set off, she had settled into her seat, admiring the scenery and trying to relax a little.

"And that wonderful fresh, pine smell," Santini responded, taking in a huge lungful of the fragrant mountain air pouring in through his half open window.

"Makes a change from smog," Megan quipped, but there was something in her voice that made Santini take his eyes off the road ahead, just for a moment, to turn and regard her curiously.

He had become aware of a subtle change in her mood in the last half an hour. Her body language was different somehow, stiff and rigid, one minute, antsy the next, as though she no longer felt comfortable and at ease in her own body.

Dominic Santini had not wanted to rush her or press her for answers, but he was impatient to know if she was picking up anything from, or about his young friend, Stringfellow Hawke, now that they seemed to be on the right track.

The look that he found on her lovely face now told him that if she was picking something up, it wasn't good news for him.

"You ok, honey?" he asked with genuine concern, trying to keep the anxiety he felt about Hawke's fate out of his voice at the same time.

"Yeah, Dom. Just that headache back with a vengeance," she forced her lips upward into a smile.

"Are you getting anything?" he asked, returning his eyes to the winding road ahead, again trying to keep the impatience out of his voice.

He had hoped that following the same route that Hawke had supposedly taken, and getting closer and closer to Weaver, the detachment, the void that Megan had been experiencing with regard to Hawke would have dispelled and that she might get a clearer, stronger sense of the younger man and what had happened to him.

"No, Dom. I'm sorry," Megan sighed deeply, raising her hand to run her fingers lightly through her wind tousled hair, then using her fingernails to gently massage her scalp, hoping to relieve some of the pain that she was feeling behind her eyes and across her forehead in the area of her left temple, and strangely, behind her right ear.

"I still can't seem to get a fix on him," she told him with a hint of disappointment in her voice, and Dominic Santini got the impression that she too had hoped that once they got on to Hawke's trail and got closer to Weaver, she would finally be able to get something more specific.

"Maybe when we get to Weaver," Santini suggested hopefully.

"I've been thinking about why I can't get a sense of Hawke," again Megan let out a soft sigh.

"And?" Santini prompted gently, fearing that he wasn't going to like what she had come up with, but needing to hear it nevertheless.

"Well," she began, leaning her head back against the headrest of her seat now, closing her eyes, briefly. "I think I can't get a true sense of Hawke, because Hawke doesn't have any sense of himself."

"Huh?" Santini gulped and dragged his eyes off the road to stare at her in shock and disbelief. "You mean …."

"No, Dom. I don't mean that he's dead," Megan opened her eyes and turned her head to regard Santini with irritation now. "And watch where you're going!"

_**Lord, but he had a one track mind!**_

She was getting just a little tired of him focusing on Hawke's death when she had gone out of her way since this whole thing had begun to constantly reassure him that Stringfellow Hawke was very much alive.

However, she held back on what she wanted to say, realizing that for him it was a knee jerk reaction.

Hawke was so dear to him, the very thought that he might never see him again was more than Santini could bear to think about.

He automatically thought the worst, because the worst thing that could happen in his mind was that Hawke would die before Santini did.

It was every parent's worse nightmare. That they would out live their children, and whilst there was no real blood relationship between Hawke and Santini, String was as much a son to Dominic as he was ever likely to find.

Megan held her tongue and watched as he returned his eyes to the road, somewhat grudgingly, and then drawing in a calming breath she tried to figure out a way to explain her thoughts to Santini, calmly and rationally.

"Maybe you should pull over and take a little break?" she suggested tactfully, knowing that he must be tired after all that time in the helicopter flying up here, concentrating on his instruments, and now all the driving, having to concentrate on the twisting, winding route.

It was bound to be mentally draining for him, but he was the last man on earth who would complain or admit to any kind of weakness, and she did not want to upset him by even so much as hinting that he wasn't a young man anymore because that was guaranteed to end up with him snarling at her and then handing her head back to her on a platter.

"No way. I'm fine," Santini assured in a gruff voice, exactly the reaction she had expected from him, and she smothered a wry smile by rubbing her hand gently over her mouth and chin.

"Aside from which, there isn't anywhere to pull over, if you hadn't noticed," he reminded her. "Now stop trying to weasel out of it and tell me what you mean exactly and why you think it is you can't seem to get a fix on Hawke," he invited now, dragging his eyes off the road ahead long enough to give her a knowing look.

"Dominic Santini, I swear, you have the gift too!"

"No honey, but I know evasion when it smacks me in the chops," he smiled now. "So?"

"Well, I've been thinking about it a lot, Dom, and I believe that Hawke has no idea who he is right now," she began in earnest now. "I think that a lot of the time he's been unconscious and I think that that is when I've been able to get snippets of information, in my dreams. When he's unconscious, he has no control over his subconscious mind, and it is through his dreams that he is trying to reach out, using images and symbolism of the things going on around him in his waking life. But, when he's awake, his conscious mind is in control, and that has no idea who he is."

Santini again took his eyes off the road and flicked a quizzical glance in her direction.

"This is ole' Dom you're talking to, honey," he reminded her. "You mind running that by me again, only in English this time?"

"It's simple, Dom," Megan gave him a weak smile, knowing that he wasn't anywhere near as stupid as he was trying to make out and that he had understood her just fine. "I think Hawke has a head injury that has caused him to lose his memory," she told him patiently anyway. "I think he's probably got the grand daddy of all headaches, just like me, and he doesn't have a clue about his name or where he comes from."

"Oh God," Santini groaned, returning his eyes to the road once more, just in time to negotiate a particularly sharp bend.

"He's ok though?" he demanded as soon as he straightened the car out of the bend and keeping his eyes fixed firmly on the twisting stretch of blacktop ahead.

"Yeah, Dom. I think so. I guess he's feeling petty confused and a bit battered and bruised and pretty darn sore right now," she let out a soft sigh and again raised her hand, this time to rub it lightly over her face. "I've suddenly got a pain in my right side, and aches in my right wrist and my left knee," she confided softly, deliberately playing it down so as not to scare him. "But nothing that would indicate broken bones or major damage to internal organs," she added before his imagination got started.

"You can feel his pain?" Santini asked incredulously, his eyes growing wide and his mouth dropping open, although he continued to watch the road ahead. "I didn't know you could do that!"

"It's not something I brag about, Dom, besides, it's kind of hard to explain," Megan sighed softly.

"Try," Santini invited.

"Well, I feel it, but I know it's not happening to my body. I know that I haven't fallen recently and jarred myself, so I know that the pain I am feeling right now is not my own. I know I haven't wrenched my knee or sprained my wrist, or hurt myself here," she moved her hand to indicate a section of her thorax between her waist and her right armpit.

"Ribs," Santini muttered knowingly, eyes wavering between watching Megan and watching the road.

"And this darn headache is more than what I would usually associate with psychic activity."

Again her hand drifted up to a spot behind her right ear and then to her left temple where she again began to knead the spot gently.

"I think he got a nasty bang on the head, and if this _**is **_his headache, he's welcome to it back!" she tried to make light of it, but could see Santini's concern etched into his face.

"In fact if he feels half as sore as I do, he probably wishes he could give his body away to medical science about now," she grinned. "Relax Dom. I'm sure he's ok, aside from the fact that he probably doesn't know who he is or where he is or where he came from, or even what brought him out here in the first place."

She reached out to gently pat his knee now, growing serious again, recalling that aside from all her aches and pains, her anxiety levels had also shot up in the last half an hour, so there was something else going on, although she had no idea what yet.

"We gotta find him, and fast."

"Yeah," Megan was in complete agreement, but again, more because of the things that she was feeling right now that she had omitted to tell him. Things like the escalating sense of anxiety and the adrenalin flooding through her whole body making her heart beat faster and her hands to shake.

Where ever Hawke was and however he was feeling, physically, Megan could not help feeling that the seriousness of his situation had just got a whole lot worse.

She had no idea what had happened to increase the levels of tension and anxiety, but where she had been feeling relatively relaxed and comfortable, now her stomach was churning and her limbs felt shaky as well as her heart suddenly racing in her chest.

She had tried concentrating on all these new, uncomfortable sensation, adding an incredibly intense flash of pure, white hot rage, for just a split second, but apart from suddenly feeling very dizzy and quite nauseous and mildly irritated and impatient for no apparent reason, she was still no wiser.

"How long will it take for Caitlin to get to Weaver?" Megan asked, leaning her head back against the headrest of her seat once more and closing her eyes, hoping to distract Dominic Santini and stop his mind from conjuring up all kinds of horrible scenarios for him, for she was well aware that he had a fertile imagination.

"I told her not to rush," Santini emitted a long, hissed breath now. "I figured it would take us the better part of four, maybe five hours to get there. I'm hoping that we'll get there no later than four thirty, five o'clock, much later than that and everything in town might have closed up and everyone gone home for the night," he reasoned, casting a quick sideways glance at the dial of his watch as he did so.

"So I made her promise not to break her neck rushing out here. The last thing we need is for her to get a ticket for speeding, or worse, end up in some ditch or as part of a multi car pile up."

As she listened Megan found herself thinking that she had been right. He just couldn't stop himself!

Lordy, could that man focus on all the bad things that could happen to the people that he cared about, and, she suddenly realized, that was a big part of why she loved him so much, the fact that he did care so deeply and that his life would be affected if something should happen to someone close to him.

For just an instant, she felt a stab of disappointment as she found herself wondering if he thought about those kinds of things happening to her too, and if the thought of her being hurt, or his losing her scared him as much as the thought of losing Hawke or Caitlin obviously did.

She quashed the thought quickly.

Of course he did. He was her friend and he loved her, and she cared too, deeply, and could not bear the thought that one day, dear old Dominic Santini would not be around any more. She found herself offering up a silent prayer that that day was a long way off for the world would be a far more solemn and lonely place when that day dawned.

After their most recent conversation, Megan knew how deeply he cared for her, and that whilst they might not have any future together, as a couple, it would never stop her caring about whether he lived or died, and she felt sure that the same went for Dominic Santini too.

"She don't need to rush," Santini continued now. "Even if she takes her time she's probably not going to get their ahead of us, and that suits me because I also don't want her going off on her own to look for Hawke. I figure by the time she's closed up the hangar, driven out to the Lair, changed into her flight suit, run through visual ground checks and preflight instrument checks and load up the camping gear, just in case we can't find some place to hang our hats over night, and she's finally got the Lady into the air that should take care of about an hour," again he glanced at his watch and Megan found herself glancing at her own and working out that Caitlin O'Shannessy had only had half an hour too so she had probably only just left the city.

"She knows to watch her airspeed and to avoid getting picked up by ground radar," he paused to suck in a refreshing breath, eyes never leaving the road now.

"So no turbos. At maximum speed should take her a roughly three and a half hour to make the flight up here, but it might take her a while to find some place safe to set down the Lady, and change back into her street clothes. If the landing site is a ways out of town, it could take her a while to walk the rest of the way. She's a fit kid, but I told her to take her time. We can't afford for her to fall and break her ankle before we even get there."

"I figure if everything goes according to plan, she'll get to Weaver round about the same time, or just a little before us. I suggested that she meet us at the local store or coffee shop, depending on what they have in town and I told her not to go charging in there, but to wait until we get there, and to try to blend in. I just hope it's not the kind of town that closes early at the weekends."

"Didn't Fred Wyman say it was the last place to gas up and load up with supplies?" Megan reminded. "Maybe the store will stay open later to cater for the weary traveler like ourselves. And don't worry about Cait. She'll be fine, Dom."

Megan allowed herself a smile now as she tried to relax in her seat. Caitlin was a very capable young woman and no matter how scared she was for Hawke, Megan doubted that she would get careless.

"I hope something is open when we get there. We'll all need something to eat and drink before we do anything else," she pointed out, raising her hand to suppress a yawn now. "It's already been a very long day, for all of us, so we need to recharge our batteries and regroup."

Dominic Santini made no response, but Megan Ravenson knew that he was not the kind of guy to pass up on a chance to get something to eat and load up with coffee, and knowing that they still had a way to go yet, she tried to make herself relax in her seat, hoping that she might even be able to grab forty winks and get ahead start on recharging her batteries.

After a lengthy silence, Dominic Santini reached out to turn on the car radio, thinking that perhaps a little music would help them both to relax, aware of Megan settling back into her seat now and trying to unwind, however, all he got for his trouble was a sudden loud burst of static that made Megan Ravenson actually jump in her seat.

"Sorry, honey," Santini grimaced as she opened her eyes and turned her head to regard him with exasperation, then watched as he reached out to twiddle with the dials and knobs trying to home in on a stronger signal, finally hitting on a channel that was rounding up a news broadcast with a weather forecast and a round up of the days' headlines.

"_**And now**__** to recap on our top story. Police are still on the hunt for two armed men who evaded capture after a failed robbery on a liquor store in Mount Cascade late Friday afternoon." **_

"_**The men shot dead the store owner after he refused to hand over the money in the cash register and activated a silent alarm. Police arrived on the scene as the men were trying to make their getaway. One deputy was killed and another injured along with several bystanders in a shoot out as the men stole the police patrol car and made their getaway. The patrol car was later found abandoned near Glacier Falls."**_

"_**According to several eye witnesses it appears that one of the fugitives was injured in the shoot out. The police have confirmed that they found blood in the abandoned vehicle and have indicated that they are stepping up their presence at all the major hospitals and medical facilities in the area, as it is possible that the fugitives may seek medical attention." **_

"_**Police have issued a warning to all citizens to be on their guard and if they think they have seen these men, not to approach the fugitives under any circumstances as they are known to be armed and are considered extremely dangerous, but to call their local police department immediately. More in our next bulletin at the top of the hour …."**_

Dominic Santini reached out to silence the radio swiftly, but as he did so, out of the corner of his eye he caught a sudden movement, and shot a sideways glance towards Megan Ravenson. She had raised the map closer to her face so that she could get a better look, peering at the tiny print myopically as she ran the index finger of her right hand along the winding wide ribbon of highway that they were following to Weaver.

"Where did he say? Mount Cascade and Glacier Falls?"

"Yeah," Santini confirmed, returning his eyes to the road as he wondered why she had found the news broadcast so interesting. His heart sank immediately as he realized that the implications of two fugitives on the run out here might have on his young friend Stringfellow Hawke, and that Megan had gotten there before him.

"Well?" he tried to keep the impatience out of his tone because he had no idea if Mount Cascade or Glacier Falls were actually anywhere near Weaver, but a cold hand of dread was already closing around his heart as Megan remained silent, studying the map, and he could not help fearing the worst.

"We're coming up on Mount Cascade," Megan finally responded, running her finger along the map. "Maybe fifty miles ahead, and Glacier Falls is about another seventy miles beyond that, south east of Weaver."

"They're on foot," Santini reminded her gruffly, recalling that the news bulletin had mentioned that the men had abandoned a car but that there had been nothing about them stealing another one to continue their journey. "And they're heading for the Canadian border, I guess," he added on a deep sigh, but Megan was already ahead of him, her finger following the outline of the highway up and around to Weaver and beyond.

"Please tell me that they're not gonna be anywhere near Weaver, Megan."

"I'm sorry, Dom. I can't," Megan sighed expressively, lowering the map now and casting a quick glance in his direction, clearly able to see the anxiety in his rheumy brown eyes. "Looks like they are going to have to go through it, or maybe skirt around it, if they are going to keep heading north," she told him forlornly, fleetingly wondering if the two fugitives had already come across Stringfellow Hawke, and that that was what she had been feeling, the reason behind her sudden heightened sense of anxiety.

"Oh hell," Santini groaned. "That's all Hawke needs," he emitted a long, audible hiss. "If they find him before we do, and he's hurt, like you think, he ain't gonna be able to help them, and they ain't gonna want to leave anyone who can identify them and point out which way they headed," he explained unnecessarily, for Megan Ravenson had already worked that much out for herself.

Megan closed her eyes and rested her head back against the headrest of her seat, trying to disguise the shudder running down her spine from Dominic Santini. He was painting a pretty graphic picture for her, and again her anxiety levels had shot up. She wished he hadn't been so good at setting the scene for her.

It was the last thing that she needed, because she now wasn't sure if what she was feeling was related to Hawke's situation, or if it was her imagination running riot and her fear for him, especially as she could not completely discount the possibility that Stringfellow Hawke may have already encountered these two desperate fugitives.

"Dammit, Meg, we've got to find him!" Santini ground out, jamming his foot down hard on the gas pedal.

However, as the rental car shot forward, the rear wheels span wildly, slipping and sliding precariously, unable to grip the dusty and gravel strewn highway. The rear of the car fishtailed and the car began to swerve and rock, terrifying Megan as she reached out with one hand to grab the dashboard before her.

"Dominic!" Megan exclaimed in horror as he did battle with the steering wheel, the car continuing to swerve, tilting wickedly as Santini managed to get enough control to guide them around another sharp bend n the road.

"Slow down, right now!" she commanded breathlessly. "We won't be much help to String if you kill us before we even get to Weaver!" she reasoned, her voice pitched slightly higher and wavering just a little as she maintained a white fingered grip on the dash.

"For God's sake Dom!" she sobbed, bordering on hysteria now as Santini continued to fight to regain full control of the car, lifting his foot up off the gas pedal, reluctantly, whilst wrangling with the steering wheel.

"I'm sorry," Santini gasped breathlessly and turned his white face slightly so that he could glance in her direction, his eyes wide with shock as though he had frightened the living daylights out of himself and was just now realizing just how close he had come to losing complete control of the car and that his carelessness and recklessness had almost killed them both."

"I know you're worried about Hawke, Dom, but killing us won't do him any good," Megan told him sharply, still holding on to the dash even though the car's forward momentum had slowed considerably and the vehicle had stopped weaving and rocking and was now back under Santini's control.

"They'll kill him, Meg. If they find him, they'll kill him," Santini groaned, dragging his eyes back to the road ahead.

"You don't know that!" Megan retaliated, although she suspected that he was right.

These two ruthless men had already killed and would have nothing left to lose by killing Hawke. Lost out here, they would probably think that no-one would ever find his body and once they were over the border in Canada it wouldn't matter if someone did find him.

However, Megan felt sure that no matter how dazed or confused or sore Stringfellow Hawke was, he would not meekly curl up and let them kill him. No. He would resist. He would put up some kind of fight, and although that might not be the wisest thing for him to do, she knew that the Stringfellow Hawke she knew could take care of himself and would not give up easily, and he might just be able to buy himself enough time to get to safety and raise the alarm.

Hawke had the uncanny knack of being able to sense, or maybe hear when danger was closing in on him. If that sixth sense had not deserted him, then it was entirely possible that he had been aware of the danger and had found some place to hide until the threat had passed.

She tried to focus on the feelings she had had a little while before and realized that yes, he was anxious and worried, but he wasn't terrified for his life, quite the contrary, in fact. He was angry and frustrated and impatient. He felt threatened, but he didn't feel that he was in imminent danger of losing his life.

She also began to feel that he wasn't just worried for himself, but she could not get a clear sense of why.

One thing was for sure, Megan knew that she had to reassure Dominic Santini that Hawke was still alright.

"Dominic, Hawke is fine right now," she assured him in a calm voice, moving her hand from the dash to raise it to her rub over her perspiration dewed brow. "Have a little faith in him will you, for both our sakes. He knows how to handle himself," she reminded. "This is Stringfellow Hawke we're talking about, remember. He's no stranger to life and death situations, and no matter how sick he is, his instinct to survive won't change. If he can't over power these men then he will wait and bide his time until an opportunity to escape presents its self. He won't provoke them, but he will defend himself, and from what I know of him, he's pretty good at it. You of all people should know that. He won't take unnecessary risks, but he won't meekly roll over either."

Megan emitted a soft sigh as she lowered her hand and used it to run it up and down the length of her seatbelt to release some of the tension as the strap was cutting into her chest, the mechanism having automatically tightened with the first jolt that had propelled her forward in her seat.

Her heart was still racing in her chest, but she knew that Dominic Santini was back in control of the car now, if not his emotions and his racing thoughts.

"For the love of Mike, Dom, will you quit doing that to me!" she turned her head to regard him now, breathing in and out slowly to try to calm herself, recalling the moment when his hand had wobbled on the helicopter flight controls earlier that day.

"I've had a reasonably good life, so far, but not so good I want to see if flash before my eyes, and that's twice already today!" she let out a slightly hysterical little laugh now, although in truth she was quickly recovering both her wits and her sense of humor. "Living through it once is bad enough," this time she allowed herself a lighter, more self deprecating chuckle.

"Look Dom, I know you're worried, but there's nothing that you can do for him right now, except get us to Weaver so we can meet Cait and pick up his trail," she emitted a soft sigh now, settling back in her seat, forcing herself to relax. "I know it's hard for you to accept, but he's on his own right now, and you have to trust him, and have faith that he will deal with the situation as best as he can. I know he doesn't always give that impression, Dom, but he wants to live, he really does, so hold on to that thought and get us safely to Weaver," she reasoned gently now.

"Besides, we really don't know for sure that these two men are anywhere near Hawke. He's in as much danger from a bear or a mountain lion or from exposure as he is from two desperate men on the run and heading for the border, but one thing I do know for sure, Dom, be it bear, lion or fugitive, I really wouldn't want to be in their shoes because Hawke has a ruthlessness too, and a powerful instinct for survival," she drew in a long, refreshing breath and turned to regard Santini, finding to her relief that he was nodding in agreement with her statement.

"You know something Dom, I feel sure that he has plenty more adventures ahead of him and so do you. I feel strongly that his time isn't up yet and that he has a lot more to do."

This raised a weak smile from Santini now who continued to nod, carefully, whilst keeping his eyes firmly on the road ahead.

"I'm glad we understand each other, Dom, because if you try something like that again I'll have to kick your butt out of that seat and do the driving myself."

"What?" Santini swiftly turned his head to regard her in confusion and horror. "But you don't have a license, honey," he teased her, recalling the way she drove and how the last time he had been a passenger in her car it had scared the living daylights out of him.

"No, Dom, it only seems that way, but don't think I would let that stop me!" she grinned cheekily at him, getting the joke, and not taking offence at it, knowing that she needed to lighten his mood just a little.

"So if you value your life, amore mio, and want to arrive with nothing more painful than indigestion, you'll get us to Weaver in one piece, because, believe it or not, despite your efforts to the contrary today, our time isn't up either, old friend."

0-0-0-0

_**Meanwhile, somewhere in Washington State.**_

"Hey, bro," the other intruder, the man identified as Jesse, spoke up now, in a kind of sniveling whine. "What about my shoulder. It's killin' me, man. And you promised," he reminded in a petulant voice now as he too lowered his weapon, secured the safety catch and then rammed it barrel first down inside the waistband of his filthy jeans.

"I could be dyin' here," he scowled at Frank as he slowly stumbled across the room toward the pine table, pulled out a chair and dropped down heavily into it, causing it to creak ominously under his bulk.

"I don't think so, man, you're making too much noise for a dead man. Quit whinin' will ya, you're worse than the kid, and don't tell me what I promised. I know full well what I promised!" Frank growled at his companion now, obviously irritated that whatever he had planned for in the kitchen with Midge would have to wait.

"Well, geez, I guess the food will have to wait a little while, Midge."

"Thank you," Jesse mumbled sarcastically. "I don't feel so good, bro. Lost a lot of blood," he reminded.

"Ok, ok, didn't ya just hear me say the food can wait!" Frank erupted then drew in a long, calming breath. "I guess I really don't wanna eat my lunch watching you bleed all over your plate," he sighed dramatically. "Could be kinda interestin' to listen to you scream like a little girl though!" he now threw back his head and laughed raucously. "Gonna have me a front row seat and watch Midge here do a little prospectin'. You know how to administer a little TLC, don't ya, honey?"

"That depends on what he needs. What's the problem?" Bridget asked in all innocence, although she could clearly see the deepening blood stain on Jesse's left shoulder.

However she really did not have any idea what she was facing. Frank had said that Jesse had a 'hole' in his shoulder but that could mean anything. It could be a knife wound or a gunshot wound.

A knife, or penetrating wound would require different treatment to a gunshot wound, she did know that much, but in truth, she didn't know enough about either to feel confident about treating Jesse.

"Oh, just a little lead poisoning!"

Frank again threw back his head and laughed raucously, and Jesse scowled at him, obviously far from amused and growing paler by the second under the dark growth of stubble clinging to his chin and cheeks and the smears of dirt and grime on his face.

So, it was a gunshot wound, Bridget realized his meaning quickly, and from the look of him, he'd been bleeding for a while.

"Is the bullet still in there?" she asked with an audible gulp that she could not conceal as she realized that the bullet might have struck an artery and the man could very well be slowly bleeding to death sitting there at the dining table.

"Sure is, Midge. That's what I meant by prospectin'. You're gonna have to do a little diggin' around to get it out."

"No, sir. No sir, not me. You need a doctor."

"No doctor!"

"But I can't remove a bullet!" Bridget protested vehemently now. "I can clean him up and put on a bandage, but that's all. I only have very basic first aid skills. I know how to slap on a sticking plaster and to wind a bandage and to nurse a fever, that kind of thing, but anything more serious than that, I'm out of my depth. That's what Doc Brunswick is for."

"Then that's too bad. You'll just have to do your best, Midge," Frank told her in unemotional tones now. "I'm sure if he dies, Jesse here won't take it personal like!"

"Man, you promised me some proper help!" Jesse snarled now, pushing back his chair and roughly rising to his feet unsteadily. "You gotta get me a proper doctor, bro. I need a doctor!"

His hand gravitated toward the butt of the handgun in the waistband of his jeans and Bridget watched in horror, waiting for him to draw the weapon and use it on his companion.

She realized that she was holding her breath and that her knees were buckling and her hands were shaking as she continued to wait. However, she recognized the ruthless expression on Frank's face, unmoved by the suspicion that his colleague was about to pull his weapon on him as he stared back at Jesse, totally unfazed.

"No," he spoke in a cold, even voice, his eyes never leaving Jesse's face now. "Nobody knows we're here, bro, and I ain't letting these folks out of my sight so there's no chance that they'll go sneakin' off and blabbing to the cops, but you let some stranger in here, who knows what will happen? Huh?" he reasoned for his companion, never once attempting to raise the shotgun, using his sheer size and the cold, emotionless expression on his face to make his point. "He might not like our company, and decide to try to be a hero."

"But Frank!"

"I said no, and I mean no, so sit down and quit bellyachin'. Mind your manners and let Midge do what she can to take care of you. I'm sorry she ain't a proper doctor, bro, but she's better than nothing," he smiled at Jesse then, a slow, calculating, reptilian smile that told the other man that allowing the woman to tend to him was a better option than a bullet in the brain and that if he became too much of an encumbrance, that was all he could expect from his cohort.

Bridget began to suspect that that was how Frank dealt with all his problems, and that she had better remember that in future, still terrified at the thought of finding herself alone with him, and still desperately trying to think of something to save herself from that horrible fate.

"I'm sure Midge will take care of you with as much care and tenderness as she did her Buddy over there," Frank turned now to regard the man on the couch who had been watching the proceedings with mounting anxiety. "Say, hey man, what happened to you anyway?"

"I don't remember," Buddy responded in a low, gruff voice, relieved now that Frank seemed to have been distracted from whatever it was that he had been planning in the kitchen with Bridget. "I only know I that woke up with a mean headache. Don't know much about anything," he told the intruder honestly. "Still a bit groggy."

"He was trying to put out the fire and a roof beam fell in on him," Bridget fabricated a story quickly. "Only just managed to stay conscious long enough to get out of there before everything went up. When he came too he didn't know who he was or where he was for the first couple of days. Still doesn't really know much about anything today, but at least he remembers his name and who I am. Amnesia I guess," she explained, growing a little shy and bashful, dropping her eyes briefly then raising them to cast a glance over at the man on the couch, giving him a watery smile.

"He's got some bruised ribs and a sprained wrist and a wrenched knee, but aside from being a little more vague than usual, he's fine. He'll live," she gave Buddy a slightly wider smile now, hopefully genuine enough to fool Frank that they were a happy, loving couple, but not too saccharine to raise the man's suspicions.

Buddy obviously realized that her smile was mostly for their visitor's benefit and he smiled back at her, giving her a cheeky wink which only made her smile grow wider and color to suddenly flood into her cheeks.

However, as she returned her gaze to Frank, she realized that the man was staring at her with a strange expression on his face and something akin to suspicion in his eyes now.

_**Dammit, had they over done things?**_

"Say, Midge, if you're married, how come you don't wear no wedding ring?" he demanded, his eyes focusing on her ringless left hand now.

"I told you, times were a little hard for us, even before the fire. I made Buddy hock my wedding ring. He didn't like doing it, Lord knows it took us long enough to save to buy the damn thing in the first place, but he promised me he'd get it back the next week. Well, you know how it is. He don't have much luck holdin' down a job so a week soon became a month, then six months, and in the end I realized I was never gonna get it back, so I just got used to not wearing it. Besides, we don't need a ring to show how we feel about each other, and folks around these parts all know we're legal, hell most of 'em came to the darn wedding!"

"I don't see no photos around the place."

"I told you, times were tough," Bridget let out a ragged sigh, her mind racing as it sought out ways of her avoiding being forced to get better acquainted with him, and then, suddenly, it hit her.

The perfect way to keep him at arm's length.

"We just found out there's another baby on the way," she dropped her head briefly, hoping that he would think that she was a little embarrassed at being forced to tell him her most intimate news, then she raised her chin defiantly and fixed the intruder with steady sapphire blue eyes letting him know that she was happy and proud that her family was about to expand and that no matter how tough times were, she would take it on the chin and get on with doing the best that she could for her little brood.

So what if she was small, she was strong and tenacious and proud and she would survive.

"And Buddy and I realized that we weren't going to make it this time if we stayed put," she plowed on. "It was hard enough the first time around, with Kenny, when the farm was doing well and we had a little money for extras, but now …."

Her voice trailed away as she laid a protective hand over her flat belly, trying to silently emphasize the fact that there was life growing inside her, as she continued to regard Frank's blank expression.

She could not help wondering what was going on behind those dark eyes, cold and hard like chips of obsidian, and if he was beginning to understand how what she had just told him would affect his vile intentions toward her, and if it would actually make any difference.

She found herself praying silently that even he was not depraved enough to actually consider assaulting a pregnant woman to satisfy his lust or that he would look at her and think it odd that a woman of her age was looking at facing motherhood, even for a second time.

People were always telling her that she did not look her age. Was she about to find out if they were right, or if they had merely been being kind? She hoped it wasn't the latter.

"Buddy and I had just about decided that we couldn't go on scratching a living out here and that it was time to move to the city and I'd just about got most of our stuff boxed up and stored in the barn ready to go when the fire started."

She again paused to draw a refreshing breath, moving the hand she had laid on her belly in a slow, comforting circular motion.

"We lost most everything that was in there, only have a few other boxes up in the attic, mostly old clothes," she sighed forlornly now, raising her hand to rub it lightly over her face, closing her eyes, briefly, but when she opened them, out of the corner of her eye she caught a movement and saw that Buddy had also closed his eyes, tipping his head back ever so slightly as though in exasperation, or as if he were seeking guidance from his maker, then he opened his eyes and gave her a look which she took to be a hint not to get too creative, although he did not know that with one notable exception, in essence, what she had just told the intruder was true.

Bridget allowed her gaze to settle on Buddy's face now, allowing her eyes to grow just a little wider, flashing him a pointed, meaningful look, whilst silently conceding that to him, perhaps she had allowed her imagination to run away with her and that she had gone a little over the top.

However, the look she was aiming in his direction now was meant to specifically remind him that he wasn't the one looking down the barrel of a shotgun, and that it wasn't his body that the lunatic, mountain of a man on the other end of that shotgun was planning to defile.

She understood that she could not count on his physical intervention to protect her should Frank decide to act out his vile fantasy, and she had had to think on her feet.

In the time it took for her heart to beat once more, Bridget saw a startled look flash across Buddy's face as realization and understanding dawned behind those impossibly blue eyes of his, and she allowed herself to relax a little, allowing some of the tension to drain out of her stiff body.

She had to give him credit. He was quick on the uptake, and she now felt a little more confident that they were both reading from the same page.

"How sad," Frank sneered now, ambling over to the table and pulling out a chair directly opposite Jesse, shooting him an exaggerated look of sympathy. "Life is hard, and then ya die. Right, Jesse?"

"Yeah, Right, Frank."

"I saw a couple of scrawny chickens out there, maybe I'll go ring one of their necks and we can have us a roast chicken dinner tonight," he growled, propping up the shotgun on his knee. "In the mean time, Frank needs that hole in his shoulder pluggin' or he'll only make us all miserable with his grouchin'"

"Take your shirt off," Bridget moved her gaze to Jesse, taking in the pain pinching his features now and the deepening stain on his shoulder. "I'll go get the first aid box. I can clean you up and make you comfortable, patch you up and give you Aspirin," she told him sympathetically now, her eyes beseeching him to understand as she continued; "I'm sorry, but I really can't do more than that. I don't have the knowledge or the right equipment to try to remove a bullet. I could do more harm than good."

"Then I guess that will have to do, Midge, Ma'am," Jesse allowed his dark chocolate brown eyes to scan her face for several seconds and then realized that she was being sincere with him. "We'll just have to find a proper doctor when we get where we're going," he conceded with a heavy sigh. "I'd be obliged if you could get a hurry on with the Aspirin."

"Sure thing," Bridget turned carefully on her heel and walked slowly back out through the archway toward the kitchen, holding her breath and keeping her ear cocked for any sign that someone was following her, then when she realized that she was alone, she almost tripped over her own feet as she reached out and collapsed against the work surface, fighting back the urge to give into the deluge of tears burning behind her eyes.

Back in the living area, Frank looked around the simple, unadorned room until at last he allowed his gaze to settle on Buddy, who remained on the couch, his arm still loosely draped around the child, Kenny's waist. Buddy silently watched the other man scrutinizing him and suddenly realized that the intruder was starting to see him in a new light.

"I was wonderin' what you folks do around here to keep yourself entertained," Frank drawled sarcastically now. "No TV. No radio. Now I guess I know," he gave Buddy a knowing wink.

"Dirty dog," he growled, a wicked leer contorting his face, briefly, as his gaze drifted toward the archway and the kitchen beyond, where they could now hear Bridget opening and closing cupboard doors and running water into something metallic, then he shrugged his shoulders in a nonchalant manner. "Seems you ain't such a lame dog and you're good for something, after all."

"You leave her alone, or you're liable to find out exactly what I'm good for," Buddy ground out between clenched teeth, tightening his hold on Kenny as the child began to squirm in his lap. He knew that Kenny might not understand the undertones going on between the two men, but he did know that it was making him uncomfortable, and that it was about his Aunt Midge, so he was eager to come to her defense.

"Yeah. Right," Frank threw back his head and laughed once more, indicating what he thought about the other man's bravado. "You're a funny man, Buddy, real funny. Good thing for you I'm in a good mood right now," he stopped laughing and his tone of voice changed now, growing harder and more edgy.

"Right now I'm only interested in killin' me a chicken for dinner, but if you don't behave yourselves, boys, you might be next."

Frank roughly pushed back the dining chair, tipping it over behind him as he rose and raised the shotgun to his shoulder once more, lining up firstly Kenny and then Buddy in his sights, mouthing the word 'boom' as he pretended to aim and then pull the trigger at each of them in turn.

"Don't try my patience, Buddy," he warned on a snarl then span on his heel and marched back across the living area to disappear outside into the bright mid day sunlight.

Buddy felt Kenny flinch when Frank pretended to shoot him, and then felt the child let out a deep sigh of relief and relax in his arms as Frank departed. Buddy leaned slightly to one side to regard the child's face with soft, reassuring eyes before pulling him back toward him, cradling his body protectively against his chest, tucking Kenny's head under his strong, prominent chin and then pressed a light, affectionate kiss into the child's tousled hair.

"It'll be ok, Kenny. I promise. Just hang in there, kid," he whispered into the hair on the top of the child's head but only loud enough for his ears. "I'll get us out of this. I promise."

In response, the child twisted the top part of his body so that he could lay his cheek against Buddy's chest, his nose pressed in to the material of the pajama shirt he was wearing and allowed his thin body to relax as he snuggled in close.

It was what Buddy had been hoping for from the child, a show of complete and unconditional trust and he too allowed himself to relax and closed his eyes as he lay back against his pillow and tried to formulate a plan that would safely allow Bridget, Kenny and himself to escape the clutches of these two desperados before they both came to the one and only conclusion that Buddy had already reached some time ago.

That they had no choice but to kill them all, because they could not afford to leave behind any live witnesses who might somehow raise the alarm and bring the law down on them like a ton of bricks.

However, he was keenly aware that they still had one major problem.

Him.

There was no way that he could overcome either of them in hand to hand combat, he was still too weak and too sore, and his size was against him, so he was going to have to use his head and find some way to distract the men long enough to at least allow Bridget and the boy to escape, and then try to let Bridget know what he was planning without giving himself away to Frank and Jesse.

He didn't know where to start, but he did know that he had no intentions of just meekly sitting back and allowing these two rough necks to ride rough shod over him self and Bridget.

That wasn't his way.

He didn't know how he knew that, but he did, and so long as Bridget and Kenny needed him, and he had breath in his body, he would never give up trying to find a way out of their present predicament, because again, he knew that that was the kind of man that he was.

It struck him that he didn't remember hearing gunfire before the men had barged their way in, and it occurred to him that they had perhaps used some other swift and silent method to dispatch poor Boomer, because using their weapons would have drawn unwanted attention to their presence.

That might just work in his favor, he surmised, although he did not know how far away they were from other settlers in the area, it still figured that if the villains used their weapons, the sound of gunfire might attract unwanted attention.

It was all well and good to use the threat of fire arms against them, but would Frank and Jesse really be prepared to resort to actually using them?

More to the point, was it a chance he, Buddy, should be was willing to take?

If it were only his own life, he knew that he would not flinch, but he had Bridget and the boy to consider.

He also suspected that he did not have a lot of time to come up with something.

He realized that Frank and Jesse would want to be on their way as soon as they could appropriate a vehicle and to his way of thinking, that meant tomorrow morning at the latest, so what ever he planned to do, he had better be ready to execute it at first light because after that, he feared that they would all be dead.

0-0-0-0

_**The Valley of the Gods,**_

_**Somewhere in the desert,**_

_**Airwolf's Lair.**_

_**Early Afternoon.**_

Caitlin O'Shannessy jumped out of the patriotically painted Santini Air Jeep almost before it came to a complete halt and strode swiftly across the sandy floor toward the sleek, shark-like black and white helicopter bathed in a soft pool of light.

Caitlin strode directly to the right cockpit door and opening it, pulled out Stringfellow Hawke's neatly folded flight suit, unable to stop herself from raising it to her face and burying her nose in the padded grey fabric, her senses immediately assaulted by the masculine scent of him, clinging to the material, conjuring up vivid images of him in her mind, his handsome smiling face, his strong, sure arms around her and his lithe, muscular body drawing her close to him in a sweet embrace.

As she stood there, inhaling Hawke's unique scent, tears burned in her eyes, spilling over her lashes and soaking into the soft material and she could hear his low, deep, gruff voice, teasing her, barking out orders to her when they were on a mission or simply telling her how much he and Dom liked having her around.

Lord, how she missed him.

_**You keep him safe, ya hear, or you'll have me to deal with!**_

She would be seeing him soon. In a few short hours.

Yes, she would be seeing him soon, alive and well and no doubt playing down all the worry he had caused. She had to hold on to that thought and only that thought for she could not allow herself to dwell too long on what might happen between them after that.

She knew how she felt about Hawke, but she still had no real idea what he felt for her.

She had resolved with herself that when she saw him again she would put aside all her fears and reservations, and her inhibitions, leaving Stringfellow Hawke with no doubts about her true feelings for him, and that she was never going to let him out of her sight ever again.

She had already decided that if she was going to have to resort to playing dirty, then she would. She was an attractive and alluring young woman who knew how to use those attributes to her advantage, and if all else failed, and he still could not bring himself to see what everyone else around him could see so clearly, she would resort to caveman tactics and hit him over the head with a big club and drag him back to her cave!

_**Face it Hawke, your fish is fried! Your bachelor days are numbered!**_

_**My Daddy's got a shotgun and he knows how to use it!**_

_**Sure, shotgun is right! It's about the only way you'll ever get him to walk down the aisle with you!**_

As the tears continued to slide down her freckled cheeks, Caitlin O'Shannessy could not help feeling just a moment of uncertainty, and then she lifted her face from the material of the flight suit and was suddenly laughing hysterically.

_**What was she thinking?**__** Was she going crazy?**_

_**Marry Hawke?**_

_**Oh, yes please!**_

It was utter madness to even think of a future as Hawke's wife, a pipe dream that had no foundation in reality, because whilst he had shown her many times in the past that he cared about her and valued her as a friend, he had never once indicated that his feelings for her ran any deeper than those of a friend, or a brother for his sister.

_**You're getting way ahead of yourself here. Quit putting the horse before the wagon!**_

Knowing how she felt for him didn't mean that he felt the same way about her. He was a stubborn man who had this crazy notion that his life was forever going to be blighted as far as romantic love was concerned.

As the scalding tears continued to pour down her cheeks, and she buried her face into the material of Hawke's flight suit once more, Caitlin O'Shannessy knew that if she was ever going to make her dream of being Hawke's wife and live out the rest of her days beside him a reality, she was going to have to somehow make Hawke believe that it was all his own idea.

_**Great! How do you propose to do that!**_

_**You can lead a horse to water, but you can't make him drink!**_

Realizing the futility of her thoughts and that she was wasting time, Caitlin gathered her self together and dashing the tears away from her cheeks, she set about preparing herself and Airwolf ready for their journey north to Washington State.

It hadn't been all that long since Hawke and Dominic had last taken up the magnificent, elegant, mach 1 super helicopter, only a few days since Archangel had had them jumping through hoops, although with everything that had happened it seemed so much longer.

When they had gotten back to the Lair, Hawke had left Airwolf in the belief that it would be a while before he would need to use her again, as Archangel had inferred that he had no work for them in the short term and had suggested they take a vacation.

Hawke kept a detailed log on Airwolf's performance making notations after every flight reminding him self of any glitches or anomalies that he thought might need checking out or adjustments that might need making before their next mission flight and Caitlin knew that she would have to read it before she did anything.

Hawke hadn't mentioned anything that he thought might be life threatening but then again, he hadn't thought that anyone would need to take the Lady up again before he got back from his vacation.

Placing the flight suit carefully back behind the seat, Caitlin closed the door and walked back across the cave to the area where they kept their spare parts and ordinance for Airwolf and where the guys slept if they needed to stay overnight at the cave to install fresh weaponry or complete repairs.

There was also a small desk where Hawke kept his log and the list of replacement parts and ammunition ready to submit to Archangel, and pulling open the drawer, she retrieved the log and flipped it open to the last page, scanning Hawke's neat, bold copper plate handwriting, noting that nothing remarkable had happened on the last trip and that the guys had replaced the weapons they had used during the demonstration and tests for Archangel.

Next, Caitlin returned to Airwolf and conducted a thorough visual and hands on inspection of every inch of the helicopter's hull, running her hands over the smooth paintwork and checking every inch for signs of wear and tear or structural weakness, recalling as she did so the very first time that Hawke had brought her out here, blindfolded.

Hawke had needed her help on a mission for Archangel. Having fervently denied the existence of this beautiful behemoth up to that point, suddenly he was telling her that she had been right all along, but that Airwolf was a top secret machine and that she should forget all about her when the mission was over because she was _**never**_ going to see her again, much less fly in her.

Hawke had desperately needed her help to back him up in a mission to East Germany, where Archangel was being held captive. Hawke and Santini had just been involved in a nasty accident on the set of a movie when a stunt had gone wrong and both had been injured. Hawke had a broken arm, but Dom had had a badly jarred back and was incapacitated because of the cumbersome back and neck brace contraption he was forced to wear and unable to work the engineering controls in Airwolf's avionics bay.

Hawke had had no choice but to involve Caitlin, but in her enthusiasm and eagerness to please, she had almost killed Hawke and her self by jumping the gun and firing a weapon before the ADF pod had been fully deployed. Hawke hadn't been very pleased and had snapped and snarled at her, reminding her that she shouldn't touch anything until he told her, but he had still been left with no choice but to bring her along, although he had been forced to come up with a compromise because there was no way that he could put Dom's brain in Cait's head and she didn't have time to learn what was necessary.

In the end, all three of them had gone on that mission, Hawke at the flight controls, despite his broken arm, Cait as engineer in the rear avionics bay and Santini as the co-pilot telling her which buttons to press to get Hawke the information he needed and to safely operate the weapons and defense systems.

Caitlin could smile about it now, but she had been terribly embarrassed and disappointed with herself for messing up what could have been her first and only chance to fly in this magnificent machine, and hurt and frustrated when Hawke had bellowed at her, his anger a tangible thing filling the cockpit and buffeting her like a rip tide, but he had soon shown her that contrary to popular belief, he did possess a sense of humor and they had chalked it up to inexperience.

Caitlin had learned a valuable lesson the hard way that day, and she had also learned something about Hawke too.

There was so much more to him than she could ever have imagined.

Taken on face value, Hawke was such a hard and uncompromising man, ruthless and cynical and inclined to keep the world and everyone in it, with the exception of Dominic Santini at arm's length.

However, the more time that she had spent with him, the more she had learned that it was a façade and that behind that cold stare and austere scowl there was a warm, loving, intelligent man with a strong sense of loyalty and justice and fair play, and that despite his gruff manner, inside there beat a big heart of pure gold.

If you ever made an enemy of Stringfellow Hawke, heaven help you, but if he accepted your overtures of friendship, and was moved to offer friendship in return, you could be sure that he would always be there for you, always prepared to go the extra mile, his friendship a real treasure, a precious gift offered unconditionally and without expectation.

Hawke liked to think that he was a complex and complicated man, but once you got to really know him, he was easy to understand. He valued loyalty and trust and respect and justice above all things and he would go to any extreme to support his family, even if it meant putting his own life on the line.

He was sometimes hard to reason with, but he was never afraid to admit when he was wrong and he was his own fiercest critic.

He didn't do things in half measures, and that included in giving his heart and all his love to the right woman.

Now she just had to make him see that she was that woman, and that she loved him with all her heart and all her soul and every fiber of her being, and she always would.

After concluding her visual external check, Caitlin began to stow gear into the small cargo hold, lugging the camping equipment that they stored in the cave and which Dom had suggested she bring along, beside the neatly folded camouflage net and an overnight bag which she had filled with clean clothes for both Hawke and Santini which she had found in their lockers at the hangar, and a clean pair of jeans and a sweater for herself and Megan, guessing that the older woman was roughly the same size that she was.

Next, she checked the first aid kit and the emergency water canteen, and then satisfied that she was ready to go, she secured the hold.

By this time she was feeling sweaty and dusty and thirsty, so she paused for a moment to take a few sips of water, mindful that she might not be able to find a proper bathroom for quite some time, and then she shrugged out of her street clothes and swiftly donned her flight suit, mentally focusing on the mission ahead, as she returned to Airwolf and climbed into the rear compartment, checking all the monitors and rows of winking and blinking lights on the panels that surrounded her, especially ground and weather radar systems, satisfying herself that in stand by mode, everything seemed to be in good shape.

Satisfied, she climbed out and made her way to the right side of the cockpit and then after settling herself into her seat, Stringfellow Hawke's domain, and drawing in a long, calming breath, she scanned the instruments before her as she reached for the helmet and pulled it carefully over her head.

Without further ado, Caitlin reached up to flick on the main start buttons on the panel just above her head, noticing as she did so that her hand was trembling slightly.

Frowning to herself, Caitlin quickly pulled back her hand and drew in another calming breath before trying again.

_**Hey, enough of that! Anyone would think it was the first time you've taken her up on your own!**_

Of course, it wasn't the first time that she had flown Airwolf solo. She had done so many times under far more daunting and terrifying circumstances than these.

_**So pull yourself together!**_

"C'mon baby, don't let me down," Caitlin encouraged as she reached up once more and engaged the switch to start engine number one and was immediately rewarded with the beeping of instruments coming to life, lights flashing and pulsing and dials moving as oil pressure and hydraulics responded, bursting reassuringly into life and then she felt the slight rocking motion beneath her as she started engine number two and the main rotor came on line, building up speed.

As she again checked her instrument panel, Caitlin cast a quick glance at her watch, noting that it was close to one fifteen pm, and then she grasped the cyclic firmly, checked the dials once more then eased it back slowly and gently, lifting the magnificent machine, Airwolf up off the ground, guiding her straight up through the narrow chimney like opening that was her only means of egress from the Lair and up into the wide, crystal clear blue sky that stretched for as far as the eye could see.

"Here we go baby!" Caitlin allowed herself a wide grin of relief as she used the collective to move Airwolf forward and gain altitude away from the monumental sandstone structures that made up the Valley of the Gods, her thoughts now centered on her mission to safely reach Washington State and rendez vous with Dominic Santini and Megan Ravenson so that they could being the search for Stringfellow Hawke in earnest.

"Hold on, Hawke, honey. We're coming. You're gals on their way!"


	22. Chapter 22

**_Chapter Twenty One_**

_**Weaver – Washington State.**_

_**Approximately 4.45pm**_

"This is it? _**This**_ is Weaver?" Dominic Santini turned to regard Megan Ravenson in genuine surprise.

The township of Weaver was so small, and there had been no sign post on the way in, Dominic Santini had almost driven straight through it without even realizing, slamming on the brakes as he suddenly became aware of the buildings lining the road where there had only been trees up to that point.

Dominic Santini had had to back up the rental car and had finally come to a stop outside what appeared to be a general store and two old fashioned gas pumps outside, standing shoulder to shoulder like sentinels.

"Geez, I didn't know towns like this still existed," he sat back from the steering wheel and lifting the sweat darkened brim of his baseball cap dabbed at his forehead with the back of his hand as he looked around him, gazing out at both sides of Weaver's main thoroughfare.

"Kinda pretty," Megan responded a little vaguely as she too looked around at the single street with it's rustic buildings, which she noted, included an old fashioned saloon bar and hotel and a hardware store, along with the a dairy queen, which was closed and the general mercantile.

The place was indeed picturesque, candy box picture perfect and as though time its self had stood still, for the place looked as if it hadn't stepped out of the early fifties.

As she looked around at her surroundings, Megan Ravenson was instantly struck with a very strong sense that Stringfellow Hawke had indeed been here in the last few days, but while she allowed herself a brief moment of relief and satisfaction, she said nothing to Dominic Santini.

She needed just a little more time.

However, she could not help feeling that at last she was finally getting something a little stronger and that they were on the right track.

A wave of excitement washed over her as she suddenly began to feel more confident that they would find out more about Hawke and where he had been heading.

"Yeah," Santini found himself agreeing with her as his eyes sought out the familiar figure of Caitlin O'Shannessy on the sidewalks of Weaver, only to be disappointed for the street was deserted and there were closed signs hanging from the centers of the doors of the hardware store and the dairy queen. "Quaint, but I sure wouldn't want to be stuck out here in the middle of winter."

"Me neither," Megan agreed, turning to face him and smiling now, aware of how much Dominic Santini loved the warmth of his beloved California. "But I guess these are hardy people, been here for generations and they've learned to adapt and survive," she pointed out. "Any sign of Cait?"

"Nah," Santini sighed, moving gingerly in his seat, and Megan realized that all that flying and driving had put a lot of strain on his back and legs.

She had tried to talk him into taking a break, pulling over and getting a breath of air and to stretch his legs, but the highway had not been very co-operative in offering a suitable place to stop, even for five minutes and anyway, Dominic Santini had dismissed her concerns with a wave of his hand and had plowed on, needing to get them to Weaver on schedule, no matter how uncomfortable he felt."I thought she'd be here by now."

"I need to stretch my legs, so I know that you do too," Megan grinned good naturedly, and Santini emitted a soft weary sigh of acknowledgement. "Then maybe we could find some place to get a cup of coffee?"

She glanced up and down the high street, suspecting even as she spoke the words that that was one commodity she was going to find difficult to get her hands on.

The general store seemed to be the only place open for business and she found herself hoping that they sold freshly brewed coffee to weary travelers, as well as other basic provisions.

"We made good time," Megan pointed out, glancing at her watch as she walked around the front of the car and joined Dominic Santini as he climbed carefully out of the driver's seat and stood on the sidewalk beside the old fashioned gas pumps, stretching himself and wincing as he felt the muscles in his lower back and calves protesting at the sudden change in position.

"Yeah, coffee would be good, but you're right about needing to stretch my legs. I wanna take a little stroll to see if I can meet up with Caitlin. Wanna keep me company?"

"Sure. Why not," Megan agreed readily, nodding gently, as though she had already reached that conclusion. She was happy to go with him, hoping to consolidate on that strong sense that Stringfellow Hawke had indeed passed through Weaver and perhaps learn more about what he had done and where he had been while he was here.

"Man, I'm getting old," Santini grumbled as he offered his arm to Megan Ravenson and they began to walk, following the main road north out of town.

"Nonsense," Megan chastised, then drew in a long breath and turned her face to Dominic Santini. "Hawke was here, Dom," she told him, smiling confidently at him now as they continued to walk, slowly, making for the next bend in the road a few hundred yards ahead.

"I felt it as soon as we pulled up outside the store. He must have stopped for gas and provisions, so I guess we need to go in there and see if anyone remembers him and where he was heading," she paused to draw a breath and waited for Dominic Santini to digest what she had just said, watching the realization dawn in his rheumy brown eyes. "I get the impression that he headed out this way, north, and again, I feel that he was perfectly happy and content, quite cheerful in fact. He was getting closer to his final destination and he was looking forward to seeing his old friend."

"Then what are we waiting for?" Santini grumbled. "We're going in the wrong direction, Meg, we should be going back there before they close for the night."

"Relax Dom. No need to rush. I checked the sign on the door and they stay open late. Closing time is eight o'clock," Megan grinned at Santini, her whole face lighting up and the years dropping away and Dominic Santini realized that it was the most relaxed that he had seen her since this whole thing had begun.

He also got the feeling that she knew something that he didn't, from the bright twinkle in her eyes.

"What?" he came to a halt beside her and looked at her lovely face more closely. "What?" he demanded as he watched her wrestling with a grin.

"Look," Megan replied, allowing her gaze to move from his dear face to the end of the short stretch of straight blacktop that lead up to the bend.

Santini followed her gaze, but saw nothing out of the ordinary, a frown suddenly pulling down his brow.

"I don't see …."

His voice suddenly trailed away as a figure began to emerge from around the distant bend, moving out of the shade into the sunlight and coming fully into view.

A familiar female figure, tall and slender and moving with fluid grace, clad in jeans and a short dark light weight jacket, her long red/gold hair being teased by the slight breeze. She was moving quickly, striding purposefully toward them.

"Cait," Santini spoke her name on a soft gasp, a huge grin immediately splitting his face as he watched the young woman moving toward them, then suddenly turned to Megan Ravenson with a look of genuine awe on his dear face. "How do you do that?"

"If I knew that, my love, I'd be able to bottle it and make a fortune," Megan chuckled at the look on his face. "I thought I'd better save you from a fate worse than death, because you know your life wouldn't have been worth living if you'd gone into that store and started quizzing the locals without her," she grinned and the look Santini shot in her direction told her that he knew exactly what she meant and that he was grateful to her.

"Relax, Dom. It was just a lucky guess," Megan chuckled, but Santini suspected that she was merely being modest.

They turned back to watch Caitlin O'Shannessy as she picked up her pace and broke into a jog, recognizing the two figures standing at the other end of the road.

As she drew close, a broad smile filling her beautiful face, her hair floating around her flushed cheeks, Caitlin O'Shannessy broke into a run and then threw herself into Dominic Santini's already open arms, wrapping her arms around him and giving him a hard squeeze before pulling away and reaching out to give Megan Ravenson a swift brief hug in greeting.

"Well?" she demanded after getting her breath back and regarded Santini and Megan Ravenson expectantly.

"Hi Cait," Santini chuckled, rolling his eyes heavenward, briefly, before looking back at Caitlin O'Shannessy.

"Oh, yeah. Hi Dom. Hi Megan," Caitlin spoke rapidly. "Well?" she implored.

"Everything ok? You got the Lady bedded down for night?"

"Everything is fine, Dom." Caitlin assured swiftly, throwing him a desperate look. "Now are you gonna tell me what you found out or do I have to wait until my hair turns as grey as yours?"

"Hold your horses, honey," Santini could not help smiling at her indulgently, letting the jibe slip this once, knowing how anxious and impatient she must be for some good news about now.

"We only just got here ourselves. Get your breath back," he advised softly.

"I'm fine."

"Ok. I take it you had a good flight and found some nice out of the way spot, not too far away mind, to set the Lady down?"

"I already told you that, Dom," Caitlin sighed heavily in frustration, still a little breathless, despite her earlier protestations.

"Ok, let's go. Welcome to Weaver," Santini grinned at Megan as he watched Caitlin muttering darkly under her breath and giving Santini another pointed look as she did so.

"We can walk and talk at the same time, ya know kid," he grinned. "C'mon honey, and we'll fill you in on what we know so far. It ain't much, but at least Megan seems to feel that she is getting a stronger sense of Hawke," Santini explained, as he turned around and began to walk back toward Weaver.

As the trio made their way slowly back toward the township of Weaver, Megan Ravenson gladly deferred to Dominic Santini, allowing him center stage as he explained about Megan's dream and how they had found Fred Wyman and that he had told them that when he had seen him, Stringfellow Hawke had mentioned going to a lake up near a place called Weaver, and how astonished they had both been that the name seemed to tie in with Megan's dream, and then more solemnly, he filled her in on the news broadcasts they had been monitoring throughout the drive up here and the possibility that the two fugitives might come across Hawke out there on the mountainside.

"Did you have far to walk?" Santini inquired casually, hoping to wipe away the look of horror on Caitlin's face as she took in the news of two armed men running for the border possibly coming across an injured Stringfellow Hawke.

"No," she spoke vaguely, then seemed to realize that Santini expected a full report, and shaking her head softly to clear the vivid images flashing through her mind, she regarded the older man as they continued to walk.

"I found a clearing about a mile and half up the mountain. I figured it was some long abandoned pasture land or meadow, easy to spot from the air but very secluded and hard to see on the ground," Caitlin paused to draw in a breath and grew irritated when she saw the wary look on Santini's face.

"Don't look at me like that, Dom. I know what I'm doing, ya know. It wasn't so overgrown that there was any danger in landing. I was real careful, and I covered her over with the camouflage netting so she can't be spotted from the air," she chastised and reassured all in the same breath, and then suddenly realized that he was winding her up, trying to take her mind off her fears for Hawke, and that as usual, she had been quick to rise to the bait.

Caitlin threw Santini a pained look of exasperation, even though she understood what he was trying to do, wondering if he would ever really understand what questioning her ability to do the simple things that he and Hawke took for granted and did without thought did to her confidence and her sense of belonging as a member of Airwolf's crew, as she drew in another calming breath before continuing.

"I stowed the camping gear as you asked, including the camping stove and I brought a change of clothes for us and Hawke," she concluded in businesslike tones.

"And the Lady?"

Santini wrestled with a smile, aware that his young friend had finally cottoned on that he was teasing her and hoped that she understood that he was trying to lighten the mood. It had been a very long day for all of them, and fatigue, mixed with their growing tension and anxiety and their growing fears for their young friend's welfare, Santini knew that tempers, especially that of the fiery, volatile Texan red head would be on a very short fuse.

"You're Lady's fine, Dom. She's operating at optimum performance, all systems A-OK, primed and ready, and loaded for bear."

"Let's hope bears are all we have to contend with," Santini reached out and slipped his arm around her narrow waist, drawing her close and giving her a reassuring squeeze and a look that begged her forgiveness and indulgence now. "It's good to see ya, honey," he smiled softly at her.

"You too, Dom," Caitlin smiled back, a gentle but genuine smile, returning his embrace, and Santini was satisfied that he had succeeded in dragging her thoughts away from the worse case scenarios she had been running through her mind in the last few minutes, if only temporarily, and that she wouldn't hold his teasing against him later.

As they neared the store, Megan Ravenson picked up her pace and moved ahead of Santini and Caitlin, walking past the gas pumps to stand at the bottom of a small pathway leading to the store's front door, she walked up and down for a few seconds then turned her attention to the storefront.

It was the only store at the end of the one road through town, and looked like it might have been built by the first pioneers through this wilderness; constructed from solid and sturdy dark timber logs seasoned by the years of exposure to Mother Nature.

Dominic Santini watched Megan as she moved up and down the path and then came to a standstill, a startled expression on her face as she gazed at the front of the wooden building.

"What is it, honey?" he asked increasing his speed so that he was quickly coming to a standstill beside Megan Ravenson, leaving Caitlin to watch with confusion and puzzlement.

As he came to stand beside her, Megan Ravenson suddenly reached out for his hand, tugging on it excitedly, and Santini was surprised to find her long, delicate fingers trembling slightly against the more sensitive skin on the top of his hand.

"Megan?" he prompted when she remained silent, a vague and distant expression on her face, so Santini did not press her, concerned that perhaps she was having some kind of vision and he did not want to distract her in case it revealed something important about Stringfellow Hawke.

"Look," she squeezed his hand gently and directed her eyes toward the small black slate sign nailed to the aged timbers over the store's front door.

Dominic Santini's eye sight was still pretty good for a guy of his age, but from this distance even he was struggling to read the inscription on the plaque so he took a couple of steps forward and screwing up his eyes focused on the words neatly inscribed in white paint.

As he read, he could not stop himself from doing a double take, and to make sure that he wasn't seeing things, he read the sign aloud.

"Weaver General Store and Art Center:" the sign announced. "Proprietor: Z. McVey. Z. McVey," Santini repeated the name as he turned to look at Megan Ravenson with gratitude and a glint of triumph in his brown eyes.

The look took Megan's breath away for a moment, for it spoke of his deep faith and trust in her and his acceptance that both those feelings had been justified.

"That can't be a coincidence, Dom," Megan smiled gently and squeezed Santini's hand reassuringly.

"Hawke don't believe in coincidences, and neither do I," Santini sighed softly. "It's got to mean something," he agreed, while Caitlin O'Shannessy shuffled somewhat impatiently and watched the pair, with confusion and curiosity mingled on her lovely face.

When Santini saw Caitlin watching them, he could not help grinning at the look on her face, then he realized that in explaining about Megan's dream, he hadn't gone into too great a detail and he hadn't gotten to the part about the piece of cloth that the old woman had been weaving, with a huge letter Z on it and a bird of prey they had interpreted as meaning something to do with Stringfellow Hawke.

"What's not a coincidence?"

Santini shared a look with Megan that told her that he was a bit wary of going into detail about her dream because he still wasn't sure if Caitlin was a believer or not and he didn't want to stir up any kind of a strong reaction that might cloud Megan's physic sense.

Megan smiled benignly back at him in understanding and turned to address the younger woman.

"It's something else that ties in with my dream, Cait. The old woman in my dream was weaving a cloth and on it was a huge letter Z and a bird of prey with its wings outstretched," Megan explained patiently.

"Hawke? Reaching out for help?" Caitlin suggested, surprising both of them with her reaction.

"Yeah," Santini chuckled in relief. "Maybe. See the sign up there. Z. McVey?" Santini watched as Cait's sharp young eyes focused on the sign. "How much of a coincidence would it be to find a letter Z on a sign in a town called Weaver?"

"I wonder what the Z stands for?"

"Why don't we go inside and ask?"

0-0-0-0

The trio walked up the short path to the store's front door, and Dominic Santini opened up the door and held it open for the two women to pass through the doorway before him, smiling to himself as he heard the gentle tinkle of an old brass bell positioned over the door, announcing the arrival of customers, as he followed Caitlin and Megan inside the store.

Santini was surprised to find himself inside a relatively modern store with aisles filled with all kinds of provisions and at the far end of the store was a counter with an old fashioned cash register positioned behind it, and emerging from a room beyond, store room or perhaps a private family room was a man.

As they made their way toward the counter, Dominic Santini could see that the man was tall, well over six feet and solidly built, maybe two hundred and fifty pounds of muscle, not flab. He was sporting a thick dark beard and his curly black hair was long, brushing the top of his shirt collar. Santini estimated that the fellow was perhaps somewhere in his early forties with shrewd, deep, warm brown eyes and a healthy, ruddy complexion.

_**Definitely not a midget or a munchkin,**_ Santini found himself thinking as he ambled up to the counter, but so far, the rest of Megan's weird dream had been spot on.

"Howdy. Can I help you folks?" the man behind the counter greeted the trio politely, his brown eyes twinkling brightly and Santini figured that to this fellow, having three folks in his store all at the same time was something of a novelty and probably what he considered to be his 'rush hour'.

Santini cast a quick glance at both Megan and Caitlin, silently asking if they minded if he took the lead and then turned his attention back to the bear of man behind the counter.

"Are you the owner of the store?" Santini began, keeping his tone friendly.

"I am," the other man responded, frowning as it dawned on him that these three folks might want more than to stock up on supplies and fill their vehicle with gas. "Who's asking?"

"My name is Dominic Santini, and you're McVey? Z. McVey?"

"Yeah, that's me," the man responded warily now.

"What does the Z stand for?" the other man began to move behind the counter, shifting his weight from foot to foot, obviously uncomfortable with the way the conversation was heading.

For the briefest instant, Dominic Santini wondered if the man had also been listening to the news bulletins on the radio all afternoon and if it had suddenly crossed his mind that the man and two women standing before him were planning to hold him up for the cash in his register.

_**Oh please! **_

_**Do we look like stickup artists?**_

Still, the news broadcasts must have raised awareness in the local communities and they were bound to be rather more wary and cautious about any strangers turning up and asking what they considered to be strange, meaningless questions.

"Relax, Mr. McVey," Santini advised softly. "We're not here for any kind of trouble, sir," he kept his tone neutral, his language polite and formal and his body language unthreatening. "I know it's a little unorthodox but your name could be important to us."

"Zebedee, Zebedee McVey," the other man reluctantly gave his name on a deep sigh, wary eyes moving between Santini's face and the faces of the two women standing just to one side of him, watching proceedings with eager expressions on their faces. "But I don't advertise the fact around here. Folks in these parts call me Zee."

Zee McVey was even more confused and startled when the man and both women suddenly let out deep sighs of relief and began to grin and chuckle and then the older man was extending his hand toward him, a big grin on his face revealing a small gap between his two front top teeth.

"Zee? I'm real glad to meet you," Santini waited for the other man to take his hand, marveling that his own big hand was suddenly swallowed by McVey's larger, meaty one.

"I'm Dom, and this is Megan and Caitlin," he made the introductions as McVey pumped his hand, although his expression was still wary. "You don't know how pleased we are to find you."

"Find me?"

"Yes. We're trying to track down a friend of ours, and we think that maybe you can help."

"A friend?"

"Yeah, a young fella, passed through here a couple of days ago."

"This young fella, does he have a name?" McVey quirked an eyebrow, still trying to work out what was going on here.

"Hawke," Santini pinned the other man with an expectant look now, knowing that even if he had scores of young fellas wondering through the store day in and day out McVey would definitely remember one with such an usual name.

"Stringfellow Hawke?

"Yeah, Stringfellow Hawke," Santini allowed himself to relax and smiled at the man behind the counter.

"Sure, String came through here."

"Looking for someone called Charlie Roth?"

"Yeah. Charlie had told me to look out for him and I thought that old rogue was kidding me until the guy showed up and introduced himself," McVey smiled shyly now. "He had a map and so I showed him where to take the turn off the highway to get to Charlie's place," he explained, growing a little more relaxed, but then his expression suddenly began to grow cloudy as though he had just now remembered something significant.

"What is it, Zee?" Santini prompted, feeling a heavy weight settle in his chest, not liking the look that suddenly crossed the other man's face.

"Funny you should come in here asking after him. I've been thinking about him most of the day, wondering how he got on. Did something happen to Hawke?"

"We're not sure. We were kinda hoping that you could tell us exactly where he was heading."

"He told me that he was going to Charlie Roth's place, but I knew that Charlie was away, visiting an old timer on the other side of the mountain. Charlie had his radio with him, and had called to let me know some guy called Stringfellow Hawke might be dropping by and to tell him to just carry on up there and make himself at home," McVey paused for a breath.

"I've been trying to get hold of Charlie ever since Hawke left here, to let him know that his friend had made it this far, but I can't raise him. I figured the battery on his radio was running low and just assumed that Hawke had made it to the cabin and was having a good time ticklin' those trout. What makes you think that something happened to him?"

"We don't know for sure anything did," Santini became evasive, but the other man continued to regard him curiously. "It's kinda hard to explain. You know when you get one of those feelings that something just ain't right?"

"Yeah, I know," McVey conceded, realizing that these people must have come a heck of a long way on a very strong conviction that their gut instincts were right, for he now recalled that Charlie Roth had mentioned that his friend Hawke was coming out from Los Angeles, California.

"I guess that's how I've been feeling all day. I wasn't exactly worried, but I couldn't get him off my mind. I thought it was because I had no way of knowing for sure he got to Charlie's place, and I know what the terrain is like up there."

"Can you show us exactly where this cabin is?" Santini asked, not wanting to get drawn into explaining the real reason they were searching for his young friend.

"Sure. Got a map?"

"In the car," Santini fished out the car keys from his pants pocket and tossed them to Caitlin who caught them deftly and turned on her heel to march swiftly out of the store.

"Glove box," Santini called after her although he knew that it wasn't necessary and watched her disappear through the door, only to return a few minutes later with the now crumpled map in her hand.

Zee McVey had already cleared a space on the counter before him and waited as Dominic Santini spread out the map and the two women came to stand beside him, eager to hear what he had to say.

"You follow the highway to here," Zee McVey pointed to a spot on the map. "Like I told Hawke, the roads are pretty good up to that point, mostly blacktop, but here is where it gets a little rough," he indicated with his index finger to where the highway branched off into a heavily wooded area.

"It's an old logging and Fire road. Sometimes gets washed away in the winter storms, but I know Charlie does his best to try to keep it clear of debris, and this time of the year, you should be ok. Just keep on going till the track ends, here," McVey indicated to a large splash of blue on the map, depicting a large body of water. The lake Charlie Roth had mentioned in his letter to Hawke.

"Charlie's cabin is on the other side of the lake, but there is a trail you can follow that goes right around the lake. Real pretty. I figured it would take him maybe half a day because he seemed real fit."

McVey threw Santini an apologetic look then, but the older man only shrugged. He wasn't offended that the storekeeper thought he was old and unfit, he was far too worried about Hawke to be insulted and besides, he hadn't come here for a scenic hike. He just needed a map reference to punch into Airwolf's computers to come up with a search area.

"He is," Santini confirmed, trying to fix the route in to his mind.

"I hope he's ok. He looked like he could take care if himself."

"He can," Santini responded confidently as he continued to study the map carefully, realizing as he did so that they still had quiet a long way to go.

"I told him that it's pretty wild and remote out there," Zee advised in a serious tone of voice now. "It's very beautiful, but wild and remote. Isolated. Miles and miles of nothing but empty road and forest. It's pretty awesome, and although I love it out here, I know that good old Ma Nature has lots of ways of trying to kill folks who get complacent and forget that they are out in the wilderness. Still, I got the impression from String that he didn't think that it was anything that he couldn't handle. He's ex army, right?"

"Right," Santini finally raised his eyes from the map and saw the genuine concern etched into the other man's bewhiskered face. "Thanks, Zee,"

"He seemed like a nice guy. Not many people are willing to try to make friends with Charlie. They don't really understand him and I thought that it was terrific that Hawke had made the effort to come on out here and that it would do Charlie good to have company."

"Yeah," Santini conceded. "I guess while we're here we should get some supplies," he turned to Caitlin now and she nodded, moving to pick up a basket at the other end of the aisle, filling it with things she knew they would be able to make an al fresco meal from if they needed to.

"Is the hotel open for business?" Santini asked knowing that if he had a choice he would much rather spend the night in a nice soft, comfortable bed than in a sleeping bag, but the look on McVey's face told him that he was going to have to rough it after all.

"Sorry. They don't rent out rooms any more, no point, not much passing trade these days, but the bar will be open at about seven tonight for the locals."

"Thanks, but I think we'll take a rain check," Santini sighed deeply. "We have camping gear and we'll have a fire for cooking and making coffee. We'll be ok," he assured as Caitlin drew up beside him and handed over a basket filled with the makings of dinner and breakfast, knowing that with the lack of street lighting that he had already observed on the way up the mountain, the last thing he would want to do would be to trek back into town with only a flashlight for company and then trek back to camp again, and be no wiser and a whole lot wearier for his trouble.

Santini watched as Caitlin went back outside and filled the rental car with gas from one of the aged gas pumps and waited for McVey to ring up the amount of each item on the old cash register, then fished out his wallet and handed over several bills to pay for the food and the gasoline.

"Thanks for your help, Zee."

"You're welcome. Give Hawke my regards when you see him."

"I will. Where's the next place to get gas and supplies?"

"That would be Hadlington, about one hundred and ten miles north of here, but you could probably get something simple to eat in Honesty. They've got a really nice coffee shop and bakery there. They get more tourists than we do here," McVey explained with a wry smile on his face. "It's closer to the main highway and there are more trails for hikers to follow up to the High Lake and the waterfalls. You might get lucky and be able to get gas there too, if Stu Reardon finally got his pumps fixed," however the look on his face told Santini that he should not bank on it or hold his breath either.

"How far to Honesty?"

"About seventy miles. It's closer to Charlie's place, but the folks up there don't like him hanging around the town so he comes here for his mail and his supplies because he can get everything that he needs in one place. He knows I understand. I was there too. Vietnam," McVey confided.

"I don't know exactly what he went through over there, but I can imagine, and I understand him better than someone who wasn't there. If Charlie calls I'll tell him that Hawke was on his way up there and that you're looking for him."

"Thanks."

0-0-0-0

After leaving Weaver's general store, Caitlin, Megan and Santini made straight for the rental car and climbed in, Caitlin opting to slip into the back seat, behind Santini in the driver's seat and carefully placed the bag of groceries in the foot well behind Megan who was sitting in the front passenger seat.

Once they were all safely buckled up, Dominic Santini gently put his foot on the gas and pulled sedately away from the sidewalk, heading north out of town.

Roughly a mile out of town, Santini spotted a patch of sun baked and well worn ground, a safe place to pull in off the road, deeply rutted from the tires of heavier vehicles sinking into the mud when they parked up and from churning it up again when they moved on.

Santini bought the rental car to a stop on the patch of naked ground and sat back from the wheel, killing the engine but leaving the air conditioning running, glancing at his watch to see if it was time for a news bulletin on the radio and perhaps an update on the manhunt currently going on in the surrounding mountains but realized that they had just missed the latest one at the top of the hour.

It had occurred to him, as the three of them were leaving the general store that Stringfellow Hawke might be in as much peril from local law enforcement officers as he was from the fugitives themselves.

Zee McVey's cautious and suspicious reaction to the three strangers arriving en mass in his store had shown Santini that folks around these parts were already antsy and wary and even though Hawke was alone, or so Santini supposed, if the police happened to find him before his friends did, and Hawke really had lost his memory and any means with which to prove his true identity, he could find himself in real hot water.

Dominic Santini was even more keenly aware that they needed to find Stringfellow Hawke, and quickly.

The trio sat in amicable silence, sipping ice cold soda from sweating cans, in lieu of coffee, Megan Ravenson relaxing back into her seat, eyes closed between sips of soda and pressing the gloriously cool can to her flushed cheeks and over heated brow, sensing Dominic Santini's escalating frustration and impatience after his chat with Zee McVey, and suspecting that his heart really wanted to get to that magnificent helicopter called Airwolf and begin the search for Hawke right away, but that his head was telling him that he was in no condition to flying, especially at night.

He was exhausted, physically and mentally and that whilst it was still relatively early in the evening, sunlight streaming through the boughs of nearby trees, Megan suspected that when darkness fell here, it did so almost immediately, and by the time they reached Airwolf, set up camp, prepared and ate a decent meal, the light would be fading, dusk almost upon them and they would be out of time today.

Megan suspected that Santini was afraid for his young friend Hawke, not knowing if he was strong enough to survive one more night of exposure on the mountain, and that that was at the heart of his need to get out there and start turning over every stone, but whilst she felt sure that the incredibly advanced technology aboard Airwolf would be able to function in the dark without any trouble, she questioned the wisdom of allowing two already weary people to take her controls.

In her opinion, it would be too risky.

However, Megan also knew that her opinion didn't amount to a hill of beans, if the two very experienced flyers with her deemed themselves fit and able to continue.

Megan could also sense Caitlin O'Shannessy's mounting impatience, as though having come this far, gotten so close to their goal, she could not understand why they had ground to a complete halt.

Indeed, Megan could almost hear the younger woman grinding her teeth as she fought to stop herself from speaking her thoughts out loud, only compassion and respect for Dominic Santini keeping her silent.

Megan could feel for both of her companions.

They were so close now, Megan could feel it. While they had been in the store, she had had flashes of images in her mind's eye, images of Stringfellow Hawke sauntering up and down the aisles and taking provisions down from the shelves.

Images of the some times quite bashful Stringfellow Hawke, opening up and warming to the store keeper, Zee McVey, sharing a joke with him, then waving jovially back at the big bear of a man as he left the store and climbed into the Jeep, slipping on his mirrored flying shades as he set off on his way, feeling cheerful and light hearted and stress free for the first time in a long while.

Megan understood their anxiety, fearing for Hawke having to spend yet another night alone out there on the mountain, but as they got closer and closer to the place where Megan felt Hawke had gone off the road, she was getting an even stronger impression of the young man and his present condition, and she felt sure that he was far from uncomfortable and exposed to the elements.

He seemed to be tense and anxious, and he still had all those nasty aches and pains although she had been able to block out the worst of it and she wasn't feeling quite so sore herself any more.

However, Megan still did not have a particularly strong sense that he was in grave danger, but she was detecting a new, stronger emotion from him.

Fear.

Strangely though, she did not think that he was afraid for himself. She was getting the distinct impression that Hawke was no longer alone, and that he was afraid for who ever was there with him.

"Did you get a along range weather forecast, Cait?" Santini drained his can of soda and swallowed the last mouthful down. "I sure as hell don't wanna be sleeping rough in a rainstorm," he grouched, although he knew that they could seek shelter inside Airwolf should the weather deteriorate. He knew from experience that it would not be ideal and the cramped conditions would not permit any of them to get much in the way of restful sleep.

"Honestly, Dom, does it look like it's gonna rain any time soon?" Caitlin emitted a deep sigh of exasperation.

"Anything can happen in the mountains, Cait. You know that," Santini reminded her quickly, thinking about the nights they had spent up at Hawke's cabin and marveled at just how quickly the weather up there at the lake had changed from calm and tranquil and benign to cold and dark and stormy in a swift and dramatic fashion, and this automatically had the effect of making them both think about Stringfellow Hawke once more and how he was and where he was and if he would be able to find shelter should the weather turn nasty.

"C'mon guys, lets get to camp and make ourselves at home. We can work out what we're going to do next while we eat dinner," Megan suggested gently, not wanting her companions to grow despondent and morose over something that they could not possibly hope to have any control over.

"And I'd like to take another look at that map now that we know for sure we're on the right track and we know where Hawke was heading. I might be able to get some sense of where he is now."

"Sure thing, honey," Santini responded to her in a weary voice now, rubbing his tired eyes with his right index finger knuckle.

"I know you guys are worried, but I'm still not getting any sense of immediate danger or peril. Right now, my feeling is that Hawke, although a bit anxious and tense, is comfortable, and safe."

"You think so?"

"Yeah. So will you guys relax, please? I don't have any impression that he is out in the open, exposed out there on the mountain. I think perhaps he's found some place dry, maybe an old shed or barn and has decided to rest up and conserve his strength for the night and we should do the same."

"Yeah, I guess you're right. I know that we all want to get started on looking for String, but we're all hot and tired and hungry," Dominic Santini conceded. "I don't know about you two, but I'm beat. Best we get some food inside us and a good night's sleep under our belts and start fresh in the morning," he sighed deeply moving his eyes to the rearview mirror and Caitlin O'Shannessy's reflection, noting the disappointment on her face.

"I'm sorry, Cait, I know that you want to get down to business, but I really am beat," he confessed on a ragged sigh. "It's been a long day, for all of us," he reminded.

"It's ok, Dom. I understand," Caitlin responded softly, but he could hear the disappointment in her voice. "I know you're right. We need you, Dom, fresh and rested and on the ball. This heat is draining and it has been a long day," she conceded.

"Ok," Santini smiled his thanks into the rear view mirror, knowing that Caitlin was watching his reflection. "So where did you leave the Lady?"

"About a half a mile ahead. Look for a turning on the right with an old dirt track and a broken down old gate post," Caitlin instructed as Santini turned on the car's engine once more.

"It's not too rough so the car should make it just fine, Dom and the track is clear and passable for about two hundred yards and then the trees and bushes start to clog up the road, but that's good because at least the car won't be visible once you get to that point. Airwolf is another couple of hundred yards up a narrow trail that opens up into the meadow or paddock and there is a small stream at the other end of the field."

0-0-0-0

Dominic Santini found the turn off easily and followed the rough, uneven dirt track back into the undergrowth away from the highway. The going was bumpy and the rental car's suspension struggled to compensate for the deep ruts, the vehicle tilting from one side to the other as Santini followed the track deeper into the wooded mountainside until the track narrowed and became overgrown, the trail choked with weeds and bushes and over hung by tree branches, bowing and bending toward the ground made heavy with their summer finery.

At this point, the trio abandoned the car and set out on foot, Caitlin sweeping the bag of groceries up under her arm as she climbed out of the car and then struck out in the direction of the open ground where she had settled Airwolf with Megan and Santini following close behind.

The track undulated and weaved and grew more narrow and tricky under foot as they moved deeper into the shadow and gloom created by the encroaching forest, and then, at last, the group emerged into an expanse of more open land.

The edges of the patch of gently undulating dark green were over grown with brambles and bushes and the field its self was dotted here and there with weeds and pretty wild flowers and tall grasses, and as he stood for a moment, getting his bearings and recovering his breath, Dominic Santini found himself agreeing with Caitlin's assessment that this place had once been a meadow or even pasture land once upon a time, the lush green grass providing nourishment for any number of horses or sheep or the like and the brook gurgling gently, meandering through the far corner of the field would have been ideal for quenching their thirst.

At last his gaze came to settle on the familiar outline of Airwolf snuggled beneath the huge and very heavy camouflage netting that they carried in the storage hold. Dominic Santini felt better almost immediately, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips and his spirits lifted as he gazed in awe and wonder at the beautiful machine that had been created by a monster of a man.

Airwolf.

Or as he preferred to think of her, the Lady.

It didn't matter how often he saw her, he always had the same reaction, his heart would beat just a little faster and his face would break out into a smile, because not only was this elegant, majestic helicopter a beautiful piece of machinery and a fine example of human ingenuity but she had also opened up a whole new world of adventure for him and his young friend Hawke, and had given them both a new lease of life.

It had been something of a mixed blessing, he had to admit, but Dominic Santini knew deep down in his heart that he would not take back one wonderful moment of the last couple of years, since Hawke had come to him to ask for his help in getting this incredible bird back where she belonged.

Suddenly, Santini recalled something that Megan had teasingly said, inferring that Airwolf was his mistress, and as he stood there looking at her sleek, elegant lines, Dominic Santini realized that it wasn't so far from the truth.

This beautiful machine did inspire something akin to affection in him, for she had gotten String and himself into, and out of some pretty tough situations and he had started calling her the Lady because she seemed to react better to his gentle encouragement and praise, and even String had finally had to concede, with mild amusement, that she seemed to respond better when Dom was coaxing her and billing and cooing at her than when he snapped or snarled, and that it was such a pity that the ladies his old friend encountered didn't react in quite the same way.

There had only been a couple of women in his life who had elicited anything like the same reaction in him, and Megan Ravenson had been one of those women.

"Ciao la mia bellezza. Hello my beauty," he murmured softly, then suddenly realized that both Megan and Caitlin were standing there grinning at him and his reaction to seeing the incredibly awesome Mach 1 super helicopter, and he wondered if they saw it as his reacting as though seeing a member of the family again for the first time in an eternity, or finding the long lost love of his life.

However, ultimately, he didn't care how ridiculous he looked or how silly they thought him. Now that he could see Airwolf, he somehow felt closer to Hawke, and he felt far more confident that they would find the younger man.

"Well, what are we standing around here for!" he growled, raising yet another grin from each of the women, not exactly the reaction he might have been hoping for, as he rolled his eyes heavenward in exasperation. "Let's get busy!"

"Sure thing, Dom," Caitlin and Megan chorused in unison, still grinning as they began to make their way toward where Airwolf stood, in a shady corner well away from any obstacles and well hidden beneath the camouflage canopy.

As he followed the ladies, Santini had to concede that it been remiss of him to worry because Caitlin had done a good job in selecting her landing site, and decided to tell her so.

"You picked a great spot, Cait," he offered as he joined the ladies and she smiled her appreciation of his understated praise as she ducked under the camouflage and headed for Airwolf's storage hold.

They set about making their camp, laying out ground sheets and their sleeping bags beneath the camouflage canopy which was draped over Airwolf like a huge tent and propped up by wooden stakes around the perimeter, and building a fire for cooking a safe distance away from the aircraft.

Caitlin went to fetch water from the brook while Megan fished out the coffee from the bag of groceries and measured out the grounds in readiness for the water then set out the mugs and while the coffee brewed she and Caitlin tried to decide what to make for dinner while Dominic climbed inside Airwolf to cast a critical eye over the instruments, satisfying himself that everything was indeed in good order ready for the morning.

The trio sat in tired but companionable silence as they ate their al fresco meal and then while it was still light and they savoured another cup of coffee, Megan asked for the map and began to study it closely.

Caitlin and Dominic watched in silent expectation as she ran her hand lightly over the creased and folded document, closing her eyes, an expression of deep concentration etched into her lovely features, her hand returning again and again to one particular spot on the page, until at last she emitted a soft sigh and her lips began to curl into a gentle smile.

"Here," she allowed her hand to remain in the same spot, trembling slightly as it hovered barely an inch over the paper. "Hawke went off the road somewhere around here, I'm sure of it, and I also feel sure that he didn't actually manage to get too far away," she informed as she opened her eyes at last. "If you start looking for the Jeep around here, then I feel sure that Hawke won't be too far away."

"Is he ok?" Caitlin asked quickly, her mind automatically presenting her with an image of Stringfellow Hawke's broken body lying a few feet away from the damaged Jeep, unconscious, or bleeding and in pain, confused and lost.

"He's fine," Megan assured, passing the map to Dominic Santini. "Look, I didn't want to say anything until I was really sure, but I think he found some one to take him in and take care of him. I've been getting a very strong sense for some time now that he's more concerned about someone else's welfare than his own," she confided at last.

"That sounds like Hawke all right," Santini sighed, taking the map from her fingers, he eyes briefly seeking the spot that Megan had indicated.

"So you think we should be looking for Hawke in areas where there are buildings, not woodland?" Santini asked calmly, already trying to figure out the search parameters he would fly when he and Caitlin took Airwolf up at dawn.

"I wouldn't discount anything, Dom, but I sense that he is in some kind of shelter or dwelling and that he isn't alone."

"Our fugitive friends?"

"Maybe, but I doubt he would be afraid for their safety," she pointed out reasonably. "And that is what I am feeling, that he is afraid for someone else's well being and that he feels that there is more of a threat to them than to himself."

"Thanks, Meg. That might help to narrow down the search area," Santini smiled softly at her, then suddenly found himself frowning as a strange look began to cloud Megan Ravenson's features.

"What is it, honey?" he inquired softly as Caitlin O'Shannessy also began to watch Megan.

"I smell burning," Megan spoke vaguely, closing her eyes once more, her lips suddenly contorting into a horrible grimace as she raised her hands to her face and Santini and Caitlin shared a curious look, both aware of the aroma of the sweet scented wood that was fuelling their cooking fire, but that from her expression, that was not what Megan was referring to.

"Oh no!" Megan's voice began to rise, panic edging it now as she began to move backward away from the camp fire, staggering to her feet and backing away, hunkering down, turning her body away and covering her face as though the flames she could see where very real and very close although in truth she was moving further away from the camp fire.

"No, no, no!"

"What is it, Meg?" Santini implored, suddenly anxious for her as he watched the horror and distaste manifesting themselves on her face and he found himself wondering what it was she could see, and hear, as her hands now came up around her head, clamping down over her ears.

"Oh God, no, oh no!"

Megan's voice had gone up another notch as she began to shake her head now, as though to clear some horrific sight from her mind's eye, her face flushed and her eyes now wide open in terror, although Santini felt sure that she could no longer see himself or Caitlin or the field where Airwolf was secreted, until suddenly she brought up her right forearm across her eyes to block out the awful vision.

"For God's sake, Megan!" Santini exclaimed as she suddenly grew limp and collapsed, pitching forward, Santini's reacting swiftly despite his age and moving to break her fall, his strong arms only just saving her from a landing in the middle of the camp fire and he held on to her as he felt her body shuddering against his own and her hot tears scorching through the thin fabric of his shirt.

"I'm ok," Megan assured at last, pulling herself out of Santini's embrace, aware of the stunned expression on Caitlin's face and Dominic Santini's curiosity and shock.

"What is it? What did you see? Something about Hawke?" Caitlin demanded anxiously now, wringing her hands and staring at Megan Ravenson.

"Fire," Megan uttered the word on a softly hissed breath. "I saw fire. A raging inferno. It was a barn or a stable or something like that, a wooden building at any rate, a tinderbox, and there were animals inside, horses, I could hear them screaming," she paused again as another shudder ran the length of her spine.

"They couldn't get out, trapped by the fire, screaming, oh God, what a horrible sound," she grimaced, dragging in a deep, calming breath now as she swayed against Dominic Santini once more.

"What does that have to do with Hawke?" Caitlin demanded impatiently.

"Easy Cait," Santini chastised. "You can see how upset she is," he pointed out, slipping his arm comfortingly around Megan Ravenson's shoulders now.

"No, Dom, its ok," Megan sighed deeply as she offered both him and Caitlin O'Shannessy a weak smile, desperately trying to pull herself together now. "I think it means that you have to look for Hawke some place where there has been a fire recently, a place with burned down buildings," she explained. "I'm sorry guys, I didn't mean to scare you," she apologized with a weak smile.

"And Hawke's ok, he wasn't anywhere near the place when it caught light," she reassured, dropping her head briefly and closing her eyes, aware of fresh tears sliding down her flushed cheeks as again the image of the wooden buildings, well ablaze, flashed through her mind along with the sound of the terrified animals, their eyes wild with terror, rearing up and kicking at their stalls, screaming as the fire drew closer and the smoke filled their lungs, and a man lying face down in one of the stalls, unmoving despite the fact that his clothes and hair were already smouldering, indicating to Megan that he was probably already dead.

"Come and sit down, honey," Santini guided Megan back toward the camp fire, then thought better of it when he felt her stiffen against his side, then she seemed to pull herself together, remembering where she was and turned her head so that she could smile her gratitude at Dominic Santini as she allowed him to support her back to where she had been sitting by the camp fire, and then took the coffee cup he offered to her with a noticeably trembling hand.

"I'm sorry, Megan," Caitlin came to sit beside the older woman, slipping her arm loosely around her shoulders and squeezing gently. "It must have been awful for you."

"It wasn't very pleasant, but I'm feeling better now," Megan assured, although her fingers were still trembling as they wrapped around the metallic coffee cup and she took a very small sip of the bitter liquid inside.

"It's not something that I want to see again, and I don't think I will ever forget that sound," she shuddered again. "There was a man, lying in one of the stalls. He was dead. I think he fell from the roof," she explained unnecessarily, then her expression changed, growing cold and dark and bitter. "Still think this thing I have is a gift?"

"Yeah," Santini sat down beside her carefully and reached out to pat her knee. "You just came up with something that will help us even more. There are probably a lot of abandoned buildings around here, farms that went belly up and the folks moved away long ago, but I doubt there have been many fires in these parts, and we can use Airwolf's scanners to find the exact location," he smiled softly at her, realizing just how brutal the invasion of her senses had been, and that this was what she had been trying to warn him against earlier in the day when they had had their heart to heart.

It had been uncomfortable to watch, and he could see that she was still very upset by what she had been forced to witness. However, at that moment, he could not suppress the elation and relief flooding through him for he knew the significance of the information that she had just come up with and how much it would improve their chances of finding Stringfellow Hawke quickly.

"You ok now, honey?"

"Yeah, Dom," Megan assured although he could still see the terror in her eyes every time she flicked her glance toward the camp fire, the flames well contained in a ring of heavy stones, dancing gently in the evening breeze.

"How about you tell us one of your stories, something about you and Hawke's father, lighten the mood just a little before we settle down for the night?" she suggested, hoping that one of Santini's exaggerated war stories would help to take her mind off the shocking vision she had seen and help to settle all their nerves.

"Nah," Santini protested, waving his hand in the air dismissively.

"Yeah, go on Dom," Caitlin encouraged, also feeling the need to dispell the gloom that seemed to settle over them like a shroud.

"Well, ok," he gave them both a slightly wider smile now, not really needing much encouragement. "Let me think," he paused for effect. "Ok, here's one, I remember the time when I was stationed in England during the war, and after a particularly bad raid, Hawke's dad, me and some of the others on our crew went out to let off a little steam and got a little the worse for wear…."

"Read 'real drunk'," Caitlin put in with a smirk and Megan found herself nodding in agreement.

"Who is telling this yarn, you or me?" Santini growled.

"You, Dom," Caitlin and Megan replied in unison.

"Well, Steven and me, and some of the guys, we found ourselves climbing over this wall, hoping to take a short cut back to the base because we were very tired and emotional," he smirked. "And we figured the farmer wouldn't mind, except it wasn't a farm, but a darn nunnery and there was this really fat ol' pig, just standing there like he was on guard duty, and Hawke's Dad and me, we looked at each other, and we must have gotten some kind of a devil in us because we both had the same idea, and we somehow managed to round up that pig and steal it. Don't ask how we got it back to base because the details are a little hazy, but we did, and we left it in the General's office over night …."

Suddenly, Dominic Santini was laughing so hard as the memories came flooding back that he could not speak, simply throwing back his head and laughing, long and loud, tears streaming down his cheeks as he fought to get the rest of the story out but could not because the memories were just so fresh and so sweet and made him laugh even harder, while Caitlin and Megan watched, glancing at each other now and again and smiling indulgently, both aware that this was exactly what they all needed so that they could relax and then get the good night's sleep they all needed.

While he carried on recounting his tale, laughing and embellishing it along the way, it grew more and more bitter sweet for dominic Santini because it bought to mind his lost friend, Stephen Hawke, gone these many years but whose son was still filling his life with joy, and heartache and anxiety, and other friends that he had flown with, friends like Harry Manning whose wife, Muriel. may or may not still be hanging on to life after her stroke the other day, and it suddenly became even more imperative that they find Stringfellow Hawke alive and well because Dominic Santini did not think that he could face any more loss in his life and be able to carry on.


	23. Chapter 23

**_Chapter Twenty Two._**

_**Some where in Washington State,**_

_**Midnight.**_

"Thank you, Midge, ma'am," Jesse spoke in a low, quiet voice as though the effort to do that simple thing was taxing him beyond his endurance, voice reed thin and raspy as he carefully sat back from the pine table.

He was breathing rapidly and his pale face was drawn, pinched with pain and beaded with perspiration, Bridget Goodwin noted, as she helped him to slip his shirt back around his neatly bandaged shoulder, and she could not help thinking that he was looking markedly worse since the last time she had changed the dressing on his shoulder wound roughly an hour ago, and that at this rate, she would be out of clean bandages long before morning.

His wound was still bleeding, not gushing profusely, but oozing a steady thin trickle, and as she had cleaned it up and redressed it, Bridget had found herself thinking that her initial fear that the bullet had struck an artery and that he was slowly bleeding to death hadn't been so very wide of the mark after all.

Bridget also suspected from the intense way that his companion, Frank, had watched her tending to Jesse, he knew the seriousness of his friend's condition and had already worked out that he was better off without him slowing down his getaway.

Bridget suspected that in Frank's mind, Jesse was already dead, and he was now planning how he was going to get away safely.

As she gathered together the blood soaked dressings and bandages and the rest of her first aid paraphernalia, Bridget did not want to even begin to contemplate about any plans that Frank was formulating for Buddy and Kenny and herself.

She had been watching Buddy while she worked, trying not to make it obvious, whilst also trying to convey to him her fears that the man's wound would ultimately prove fatal, and she could tell from the hard set of his handsome features and his rock steady, piercing blue gaze, that he was trying to figure out a way out of their present predicament.

She had no idea what he thought that he could do.

Physically he was no match for either of them; for even in his weakened state, she felt sure that Jesse would be no push over and could probably still inflict a lot of damage on the much slighter Buddy.

Frank had been watching them all like the proverbial hawk since he had returned, empty handed from his sojourn outside, having decided that the chickens were too old and scrawny to make for good eating.

However it had been obvious from the remnants of soot and grime clinging to his clothes, hands and face, that he had been scouting around the property, probably checking out the barn and stable to make sure that what she had told him was true, and from the dark, foreboding scowl on his face when he had returned to the cabin, it was clear that he had not found what he had been looking for.

A vehicle.

Bridget suspected that he had used the opportunity to explore the farm to try to locate a vehicle to make his getaway, and he had probably come across the burned out shell of George's ancient truck which had been parked against the wall of the barn for so long that it was just a rusting hulk now.

The last time the starter motor had died, a couple of years back, George hadn't had the money to replace it and from that point on he had ridden one of the horses if he needed to go into Honesty, following the mountain trails instead of riding on the highway, and that had suited him perfectly, and on the rare occasions when he had needed to venture further afield, down to Weaver, he had waited until she had been heading that way herself to pick up supplies for the coffee shop and the bakery and they had made a family day outing of the trip.

When she had heard about the fire, Bridget had rushed out here in her own truck, the one she used to transport supplies she bought for the bakery and the coffee shop, but because of all the emergency services vehicles blocking the approach to the farm, she had parked in the lower paddock, off the deeply rutted dirt track road that lead up to the farm, off of one of the old disused fire roads that littered the mountains, well out of the way and out of sight from anyone coming to the farm, concealed behind the overgrown hedgerow, and had walked the rest of the way up the track.

She had had no cause to use the truck since.

She and Kenny had followed George's coffin in a beautiful big black car provided by the funeral company that had made them both feel very small and insignificant as they huddled together in the back seat, the unusually smooth and luxurious ride lost on both of them, and what she had told Frank about not having had time to go shopping for groceries had been true, having thrown all her energies since the funeral into cleaning the house and clearing the remnants of her brothers life into various boxes and cartons.

Therefore she still felt sure that hidden behind the high row of overgrown trees and bushes, all in summer foliage now, even if he had ventured that far down the track, Frank would not have seen the truck from the road, and she had no intention of revealing it's location to him.

The fact that she knew about it, and he did not might prove to be their one and only advantage.

She had no idea what Buddy might be plotting, but doubted that even he believed that he could take down both Frank and Jesse. It stood to reason then that he was probably banking on Jesse passing out, or worse, and Frank finally needing to give into his body's need for sleep, after all, he was only human and could only fight that need for so long.

Bridget figured that Buddy's plan would revolve around waiting for both men to succumb to the various needs of their bodies, so that they could sneak out. However, if he had any plans to make her go with Kenny, leaving him behind, then he could forget them.

There was no way that she could ever be persuaded to leave him here, to Frank's mercy. The man didn't know the meaning of the word, and would probably think nothing of killing Buddy and then he would come after her and the boy, in an even deeper rage no doubt.

She felt sure that if their roles were reversed, Buddy would not leave her behind, and she was just as determined that she would not desert him either.

They needed each other.

They had survived thus far by sticking together, and that was how she aimed to keep it.

They had had little or no chance to talk, Frank making certain that they had no opportunities to get their heads together and plot his downfall, keeping them apart as much as possible, except when she had changed Buddy's bandages and given him more pain killers, but he had stood over her while she worked and there had been no time to exchange anything except a few brief words.

When he had returned from his scouting trip outside, Frank had helped Kenny to take Buddy upstairs to use the bathroom while she had stayed down stairs, tending to Jesse's shoulder, then he had followed her out to the yard while she hunted around in the rusting old freezer in the shed out back, finally coming back inside with a couple of TV dinners which she had popped into the oven.

The two intruders had eaten their meal without comment even though Bridget suspected that the food tasted of nothing more than the cardboard it had come packaged in, and was about as nutritious too, and then while Frank and Jesse had settled down to digest their food, positioned so that Frank could keep an eye on her in the kitchen, and Jesse on Buddy and Kenny on the couch, Bridget had kept herself busy, clearing away the dirty dishes and taking in the now dry laundry from the line in the yard, then weighing and mixing ingredients to make fresh bread and taking out her anger and frustration in vigorously kneading the dough.

She had left the dough to rise and prove and after making coffee and passing it around, she had realized that Jesse was getting worse and that his dressings needed changing and so she had set about that chore in a bid to take her mind off her growing fear and anxiety.

By that time it had been growing late, and Frank had begun to make noises about it being dinner time and grateful for something else to take her mind off her growing sense of unease, Bridget had returned to the kitchen and focused on the task of providing a meal that they could all eat.

Although her own appetite had suddenly deserted her, she suspected that both Kenny and Buddy would be starting to feel peckish about now, so she had rifled through the meager contents of the kitchen cupboards, very much aware of Frank's silent scrutiny from his perch just beyond the arch, and that the cupboards before her were almost bare.

When he began to lose patience with her, probably assuming that she was dragging her heels and buying herself time to come up with a way to get away from him, Frank had come lumbering into the kitchen to stand behind her as she peered into the open cupboard before her, pressing his big, long, hard body close up to her back, using his hands to brace his considerable weight on the counter, placing them on either side of her, effectively trapping her and Bridget had had to fight not to shudder in revulsion at his closeness.

"Uh oh, Houston, we have a problem," he had sneered as he had followed her gaze to the empty shelves inside the cupboard. "Geez, you guys really are poor as church mice!" he had sniggered. "Maybe we should pool our resources and hit the highway? I'm sure we could find some use for a gal like you."

Bridget had remained silent and rigid, hardly daring to breathe as Frank had bought his right hand up resting it heavily against her shoulder, briefly, before lifting it once more, allowing his palm to lightly graze her flushed cheek as he had reached up to the top shelf of the cupboard and pulled down a dented and slightly rusting can with a half peeled off label, setting it down on the counter before her with a flourish before reaching up once more, stretching to reach to the very back of the shelf and pulling out another similar can.

"I guess that will have to do," he had sighed heavily, pressing his body even closer into her back, pushing her hard against the kitchen counter until it dug into her belly.

She could feel the heat radiating off him and to stop herself from reacting in disgust at his proximity, Bridget had closed her eyes and taken her bottom lip between her teeth, biting down on it so hard she could taste blood in her mouth.

"That and some nice freshly baked bread," Frank had added as he leaned nice and close to her ear and smacked his lips. "So you'd better pray it ain't dog food!"

He had finally dragged himself away from her and had laughed raucously as he had turned on his heel and returned to his perch just beyond the archway.

Dragging in several deep, calming breaths and willing her hands and her legs to stop shaking, Bridget had checked on the rising bread dough. Uncaring if it was actually ready to go into the oven at last or not, she had carefully opened the oven door and placed the loaf on the shelf inside.

Then focusing on the task at hand once more, despite the fact that her heart was practically leaping out of her chest it was beating so fast, she had reached for the can opener and then slopped the contents of both cans, a very pungent kind of gooey, congealed meat stew into a saucepan, as a thought suddenly occurred to her and she wondered if she might be able to find some weed killer or rat poison lurking in the back of the cupboard under the sink to season Frank and Jesse's dinner with.

As she had realized what she was thinking, Bridget's hand had quivered and she had spilled a little of the greasy gravy onto the counter and out of the corner of her eye she had spied Frank still watching her, and was suddenly terribly afraid that he could read minds as she saw the reptilian smile curving at his lips.

Reaching for a cloth to quickly wipe away the spill, Bridget had drawn in a long, ragged breath, surprised at just how easy it was to have such wicked, murderous thoughts towards the two intruders and terrified that she really was seriously considering going ahead with her plan to poison the two men.

Even as she entertained the idea, she had known that Frank wasn't a stupid man and that he would undoubtedly question her about why she was only feeding him and Jesse the stew, but she had it worked out in her mind already and she had felt confident that she could lie convincingly.

She would have to for her very life might depend on her ability to pull it off without raising their suspicions.

Buddy was vegetarian so that would explain why she wasn't serving him the same food as them, and she could tell them that Kenny was a picky eater, which was in essence quite true, and that she knew he wouldn't touch the canned stew and would that he would only cause a scene if she tried to force him to eat it, and she herself wasn't all that hungry, so the three of them could make do with bread and butter, leaving more of the filling stew for her so called guests.

It might just work, Bridget had realized, her heart beating even more erratically in her chest, but then she realized that there was a flaw in her plan.

Jesse.

If he felt as wretched as he looked then he might not be able to manage more than a mouthful of food, if anything at all.

_**But dammit, a mouthful is all that it would take!**_ She screamed silently to herself. _**And while Frank and Jesse are getting sick, or rolling around in agony on the floor, you and Kenny and Buddy can get the hell out of here!**_

_And go where?_The voice of her conscience had taunted her. _It's black as pitch out there, how far do you think you are going to get with an injured man and a child?_

_**If we could just make it to the truck, I could drive us to Honesty and raise the alarm with **__**Sheriff Buchanan!**_

_Are you really sure you can go through with it? Think! No matter how depraved or wicked these men are, do you really think you could go through with poisoning them?_

_And do you really think you could get away with it? _

_Frank's watching you like a hawk all the time. He's probably way ahead of you, kiddo, already suspicious that you might try to do something to the food and that's why he hasn't taken his eyes off you all the time you've been in here._

As she had begun to calm down and regained her equilibrium, working to set out bowls and cutlery on the counter in readiness for the meal she was preparing, Bridget had finally had to accept that she did not have the nerve to go through with it.

No matter what the circumstances, it would still be premeditated, cold blooded murder, and even if she had had the opportunity, she simply could not do it.

She was going to have to come up with something else, or hope that Buddy had hatched out some plan while he had been glaring at Frank and Jesse.

Now that the meal was over and the kitchen tidied, as well as being filled with the delicious, lingering aroma of fresh baked bread the cabin was enveloped with a sense of increasing tension, as though something was building up to breaking point and would inevitably explode.

"You have a real gentle touch. I'm obliged to ya."

"You need a doctor," she told Jesse once again although she could not help thinking that it was probably too late to do anything to save him now.

"Then that's just too bad, ma'am," Jesse sighed heavily, as though in his own mind he was resigned to his fate and understood the futility in fighting against it. "But I thank you kindly for your concern, and your help."

"Try to get some sleep," Midge reached out to his good arm and lightly laid her hand against his forearm which was folded on the table top before him then removed it quickly and raising her voice, to no-one in particular announced. "We should all try to get some sleep."

Kenny had fallen asleep cradled against Buddy's chest, a position he had claimed as his own and refused to relinquish and which although it must have been making him feel restricted and uncomfortable, Buddy himself had encouraged, glad to be keeping the boy close to him.

When there was no immediate reaction to her advice, Bridget gave a quick shrug of her shoulders and emitting a soft sigh of resignation, continued to collect together the debris from Jesse's shoulder wound and made to move toward the kitchen.

However, to reach her destination, Bridget again had to walk past Frank, and as she drew up beside him, he suddenly snaked out a hand, grabbing her roughly by the wrist and hauled her toward him, whipping her body with such force she had no choice but to fall unsteadily in to his waiting open lap and the dirty bandages fell from her hands.

"You wanna go to bed, Midge?" he leered at her devilishly, a sickening glitter in his eyes now as one arm wrapped around her waist like a vice "All ya had to do was ask!" he sneered as she tried to pull free from his iron grip.

"Let go of me!" Bridget screamed hysterically. "Let go of me!"

"Let her go!" Buddy demanded angrily. "Let her go!

"Or what?"

"You'll find out soon enough if you don't stop hurting her," Buddy seethed, eyes bulging out of his head as he watched the rough way Frank was holding on to Bridget and the terror in her eyes.

"Let her go, Frank," this came from Jesse now as he watched the proceedings with a pained expression on his face. "You're hurting her."

"No I ain't," Frank laughed.

"You're scaring her. What if you scare her so bad she starts to lose the baby?" Jesse reminded his companion of the woman's delicate condition in a low but meaningful tone of voice. "What are ya gonna do then, Frank?"

"I'm only playin'," Frank growled back at his companion, obviously displeased with his reminder, disappointed not to be able to let the taunting drag on a little longer but aware that his friend was right and that he could not take the risk that his toying with the woman might bring on a miscarriage. "You can take a joke, can't ya, Midge?"

"I don't see her laughing," Buddy hissed, curling his fingertips into his palms to try to stop him self rising from the couch and laying a sweet punch on the other man's arrogant jaw.

It was such an inviting target and the man really was asking for it, but he was effectively pinned down on the couch by the sleeping child, who was just now beginning to stir against his chest.

He could see that Bridget was almost on the verge of tears; her face flushed a bright crimson color as she continued to struggle to get free of the big brute's grip, terror in her wide deep blue eyes.

Buddy was also aware that the child was rousing from his sleep now, no doubt disturbed by the raised voices and the sudden change in atmosphere between the adults, and as the child raised his sleepy head from Buddy's chest and began to look around him he was instantly aware that there was something bad happening to his Aunt.

Despite the fact that he was still half asleep, Kenny acted on instinct and was immediately struggling to break free from Buddy's embrace, wanting to rush to his Aunt's rescue, exactly the same impulse that was driving Buddy himself, but no matter how much he could see himself throwing that punch and wiping that terrible lecherous look off of Frank's face, now that the child was awake he knew that it would be dangerous to get into a hand fight with Frank for he could not deal with him and be sure to protect Bridget and keep the child out of harm's way all at the same time.

There was also Jesse to consider. He might be weak and possibly fighting for his life, but he was still part of the equation, and Buddy didn't think that the man would side with him self and Bridget despite the fact that he had initially stood up for her, probably out of respect and gratitude for her kindness and sympathy toward him. His fate was inextricably linked with Frank's and Buddy doubted that he would either antagonize or go against his companion.

"Let her go!" Buddy's voice was deep and low and throbbing with authority and barely concealed disgust at the other man's behavior for he was beginning to get a measure of the other man and had reached the conclusion that he was all mouth and no action.

The element of surprise had been on his side when he and Jesse had come barging in, but aside from waving the shotgun around and making some veiled threats, Frank had relied on his size and his over bearing manner, and their fear to keep them under control, and more and more as the afternoon and evening had worn on, Buddy had reached the conclusion that the weapon was indeed empty and Frank was bluffing.

Tiring of the situation, Frank suddenly pushed Bridget from her perch on his knee with a forceful hand in the middle of her back, sending her sprawling to the ground with a yelp, indicating that he really didn't give a damn about her delicate condition. He then rose from his seat and quickly hoisting the shotgun up over his shoulder, pinned his cold, ruthless eyes on his companion Jesse.

"I need to go take a leak. You can handle things here while I'm gone?" he growled, looking at the still bleeding wound on the other man's shoulder and then to his pale, sweaty face.

"Sure thing, Frank," Jesse responded quickly, wincing as he struggled to reach behind him to the handgun that he had returned to the waistband of his jeans after Bridget had helped him back into his shirt, pain radiating through his body and robbing him of breath.

"No problem," he panted raggedly, clicking off the safety catch and lining the end of the barrel of the handgun up with the couch, his hand trembling as he did so and he had to wait until it grew steadier before he took aim at Buddy's head.

"Get up!" Frank barked out turning his attention back to Bridget who was kneeling on the floor trying to get her wits and her breath back without being sick.

"You're making the place look untidy," he grinned vindictively. "Now get up and go sit with the rest of the family. I don't want you wandering off on your own and trying to sneak out. I won't be long, just goin' upstairs to shake hands with my best friend, if you know what I mean," he gave her another long lecherous look and then winked at her as the breathless Bridget struggled to get to her feet, reaching out to the nearest wall for support, shaken and terrified and needing the leverage to rise on her very shaky legs.

However, when she did not react quickly enough, Frank suddenly strode over to her and grabbing her clothes hauled her roughly to her feet and then quickly spun her around and gave her another sharp shove in the direction of the couch.

"Midge!" Kenny exclaimed fully awake now and terrified out of his wits as Buddy reacted swiftly, despite the soreness of his ribs, moving the boy quickly off his chest so that he could reach out and catch Bridget as she staggered toward them.

The child immediately saw the look of shock and fear on his Aunt's face and knew that something was terribly wrong, even if he did not really understand the true threat to her and he too was again struggling to get off the couch ready to launch a frenzied attack at Frank who stood back and watched, laughing raucously as Buddy blocked the boy's path as he reached out to cushion Bridget's fall as she stumbled just before she reached the couch and fell to her knees before Buddy's open arms.

Before she knew what was happening, Buddy had gathered her close, his strong arms coming around her and pulling her roughly to him, cradling her head with one hand and her waist with the other, murmuring soothingly into her hair, coaxing her to be quiet, as he held her quivering body and tried to reassure her that it would be all right whilst ignoring the pain that was shooting through his whole upper body.

With her face buried in the material of his pajama top, Bridget wrapped her arms around him too, gently, mindful of his injuries, and breathing hard, tried valiantly to fight back the tears threatening to engulf her, her shoulders shaking silently as the sobs refused to be contained and the scalding tears poured unchecked down her now almost bloodless face.

That vile man, to him it was all just a game, something to satisfy his sick, twisted sense of humor and he was playing with them all, like a cat plays with a mouse before the final, fatal pounce.

"Quit sniveling, Midge!" Frank bellowed as he kicked the chair out of his way and began to make his way to the stairs beside the fireplace. "You're giving me a headache. What is it with you people! I said get up off your knees woman, it ain't ladylike!" he ranted, laughing and pulling grotesque faces as he stopped at the bottom of the stairs to turn back and glare at Bridget. "Do you hear me?"

"C'mon honey," Buddy spoke loud enough so that Frank could hear him as he loosened his hold slightly on Bridget, so that he could pull back from her, just enough to look down into her face.

"Come sit with me for a while," he encouraged gently, giving her a long, meaningful look, then used his hands to encourage the white faced woman to her feet, reaching out to catch her when she swayed alarmingly for a moment and then waving at Kenny to move and make room on the couch, Buddy too made space for Bridget to sit down by swinging his legs carefully out over the edge of the couch and sitting up properly, keeping a hold on the quilt so that it did not slip off his lap.

With silent acceptance, Bridget allowed Buddy to guide her to the empty seat between himself and the boy and she dropped down heavily in it, a stunned, vacant expression on her pale tear streaked face and as soon as she was seated, Kenny flung himself at her, burying his nose in her chest and wrapping his stick thin arms around her, squeezing her with all his might as Buddy also reached out and slipped his arm lightly around Bridget's shoulders, applying enough pressure to encourage her to drop her head down on to his shoulder.

Gratefully, Bridget subsided against Buddy with a soft sob, burying her face into the collar of his pajama shirt and was rewarded with a soft kiss to the top of her head as he continued to whisper soft reassuring noises into her hair.

"Keep your eye on them, Jesse."

"Sure thing, Frank."

"No funny business people, ya hear?" Frank wagged his finger at them as he used the other hand to hoist the shotgun up under his armpit and then once again pointed the barrel at the three occupants of the couch. "Or else when I get back, no more mister nice guy!"

0-0-0-0

"Are you all right?" Buddy whispered quietly into Bridget's hair, his voice edged with genuine concern as he felt her quivering against him, his eyes never leaving the man Jesse's face, as he sank weakly back into his chair and laying the hand gun down on the table top in front of him, put his head in his hands.

Bridget nodded softly, completely lost for words, still very shaken and shocked by what had just happened, the unexpectedness of it and the violence of it having taken her aback and robbed her of her wits.

She could feel herself shaking and was extremely grateful to have Buddy's strong arm around her and his warm solid chest to rest against, although she was trying not to lean too hard on him, still mindful of his sore ribs. Her wrist was painful from being wrenched after Frank had almost literally thrown her across the room, and her knees were still stinging from where she had fallen to the ground.

"I'm sorry he hurt you," Buddy again whispered into her hair, still feeling frustrated and uncomfortable that he had not been able to physically help Bridget.

In response to his words, Bridget buried her nose a little deeper into his shoulder bone and her body quivered even more.

"It's ok," Buddy soothed, as much for Kenny's benefit as for Bridget's, aware that the child although calmly resting himself against Bridget's bosom, was listening intently to the whispered conversation between the adults, gazing up at him with trusting blue eyes, although Buddy knew that his words were far from adequate as well as being untrue.

Everything was far from fine and he knew that both Bridget and Kenny knew it too.

Buddy was keenly aware of Jesse on the other side of the room and so he was trying to make it look like he was gently pressing reassuring kisses into his wife's hair should the man forget his own misery for a moment and remember that Frank had ordered him to watch them.

Buddy knew that he might not have another chance to speak with Bridget about his thoughts on what they might do to try to escape and raise the alarm, but he also did not want Jesse, in a moment of lucidity, to grow suspicious that they might be plotting and planning, so he tried to make himself relax as he soothed and reassured Bridget, needing it to look to Jesse as though he was merely a loving husband comforting his distraught wife.

Jesse was still sitting with his head in his hands, shoulders slumped and from the rapid rise and fall of those shoulders, Buddy guessed that he was hurting and that he was losing his fight to stay alert, but he still had just enough left in him to be able to reach for the hand gun on the table before him and shoot one of them if he grew suspicious or he thought that they were trying to out smart him, if indeed there were any bullets left in his gun, which Buddy doubted.

Still, it wasn't worth taking any risks, by drawing attention to themselves and rousing his suspicions. Better to let him continue to believe that he was a concerned husband trying to calm and reassure his distressed wife.

Jesse's time was almost up, and Buddy knew that that could spell trouble for himself and Bridget and the child.

He suspected that along with the dawn, all Frank was waiting for was for Jesse to die, and he also suspected that that was happening more quickly now, energy and life draining out of him with every beat of his heart, leaking out through that shoulder wound and that he was finding it hard to focus and stay awake, and although Buddy had no idea how he knew it for sure, he felt that he had seen it happen before, some where, some time in the past, maybe when he had been a soldier, fighting in a war and he knew because of that, for Jesse, death was inevitable.

"He's crazy!" Bridget hissed into his shoulder, her own shoulders heaving briefly beneath the hand he had laid comfortingly against her back, as she raised her head long enough to drag in a ragged breath.

"Yeah. Right," Buddy sighed deeply, his breath lightly fanning the hair on the top of her head and then he too quickly drew in a deep, calming breath, wincing as he felt the pain in his chest once more.

"We have to get you and the boy away from here," he sighed heavily again, his fingers sinking gently into the silky softness of her hair as he did so, and stilling her when he felt her start.

Bridget also felt Kenny react to Buddy's words.

The boy had shifted his position a little to get more comfortable and was now lying with his head in her lap. In response to Buddy he started to squirm, trying to sit up, obviously eager to hear more of what he had to say.

Not wanting the child's sudden movement to draw Jesse's attention Bridget quickly laid a reassuring hand against the top of his arm and willed him to be still at almost exactly the same time that Buddy reached out with his other hand to lay it gently on top of Kenny's head.

The child quickly caught on and grew still once more allowing his head to drop back down in to Bridget's lap, but his eyes remained fixed on Buddy's face, peering up at him adoringly through his over long fringe.

As Bridget raised her head once more, just enough to peer up at Buddy through tear filled eyes, she caught him smiling reassuringly down at the boy and then he gave the child a quick conspiratorial wink before removing his hand from Kenny's head and returning his attention to Bridget and she could not help wondering what silent communication was going on between the two of them.

Whatever it was, she was grateful, for she suspected that had Buddy not been here, exuding his calming influence, Kenny would probably have felt compelled to try to protect her and would no doubt have done something reckless, succeeding in only irritating Frank even more and possibly getting himself hurt or both of them killed.

She could see Buddy's tired, drawn and anxious face, but his eyes remained steady and she could see the resolve in them.

"No, not just me and Kenny, _**all**_ of us, Buddy," she responded in a low hiss, her eyes ablaze now with outrage at what she had just had to endure and determination that she would not leave him behind to face Frank and Jesse's wrath alone.

"We're not going anywhere without you," she whispered defiantly. "We're all in this together, and we're all going to get out of it, together," she told him adamantly, however she could not suppress the shudder that ran the length of her spine at the thought of remaining for one more minute in Frank's company.

She had no desire to remain here in this tense, volatile atmosphere with the unpredictable and possibly insane intruder, but she also had no intention of leaving Buddy behind to meet his fate alone.

She felt sure that if they stuck together, the three of them could overpower Frank. Yes, he was a big man with a nasty, sordid mind and a vicious streak but if something happened to Jesse, which now seemed inevitable, she realized, as she followed Buddy's gaze across the room to see what the other intruder was doing and if he was watching them, if they timed it just right and worked together, surely the three of them could bring Frank down.

"You've got to," Buddy insisted, lowering his head to press a soft kiss to her furrowed brow when he noticed Jesse watching them curiously now, whilst marveling at her courage and her stubbornness despite what she had just been through. "Don't worry about me. I can take care of myself."

His voice remained a low, rough whisper, but there was a steely edge to it and a confidence in his eyes that she had not seen before, and suddenly, she found herself believing him.

Bridget shifted her position, just a little, so that she could rest her cheek against the deeper part of Buddy's shoulder and so that she could get a better look at the man Jesse.

He was sitting at the table once more, slumped in his seat, his head in his hands although he was glancing in their direction now and again, breathing rapidly, chest heaving as it rose and fell quickly, his face pale and dewed with perspiration, and his hands visibly shaking.

Bridget knew that she had been right. He was getting weaker with every breath, and she could not help thinking that time was running out for him.

"He's dying," she raised her eyes back to Buddy's face and found him nodding softly in agreement with her assessment.

"I know," he sighed softly, then keeping his voice low; "And my guess is, if he's still alive come morning, Frank will finish him off," he told her in a rough, low whisper. "He doesn't come across as the sympathetic type," he added when he saw the grimace on her face at the thought, and she nodded in understanding.

"We have to be ready to make our move. I want you to make me a promise, Bridget, I don't want you to worry about me, don't even think about me. Just concentrate on yourself and the boy."

"I …."

Bridget was all set to protest, but when she gazed up at him once more, she was shocked to see a cold, hard, ruthless expression on his handsome face and a fierce glint in his eyes, and her heart suddenly skipped a beat.

She could see the determination in his eyes and knew that not only was he aware of the risks, he was willing to take them, his only concern that she and her nephew get to safety.

Whoever he really was, in that instant, Bridget had no doubts that he was a brave man, and she somehow instinctively knew that this was not the first time that he had been willing to offer up his own life to save another.

She swallowed down hard and nodded her acknowledgement of the sacrifice that he was willing to make, drawing in a long, calming breath, knowing that she could not refuse his offer because that would be the worst kind of betrayal.

She was deeply touched, and although she had qualms about leaving him to face Frank alone, she knew that he had a point and that her main concern should be getting the child to safety and that all she could do was trust Buddy's own faith in his ability to defend himself.

She gazed silently into his unwavering blue eyes for several seconds, feeling an even stronger sense that this was an intrinsic part of the man that he really was, his personality and that he was used to laying his life down on the line to protect the people that he cared for, before speaking at last.

"You have a plan?"

"Maybe."

"Only maybe? Is that supposed to reassure me?"

"We're going to have to wait for the right time," Buddy pointed out, shifting his gaze to glance across the room toward Jesse before returning his gaze to Bridget's face.

"You mean wing it?"

"Yeah. Right," he sighed heavily. "Jesse won't last much longer and I figure Frank is going to want to make his move at first light. So, as soon as it starts to get light, I plan to cause some kind of distraction and that's when you and Kenny have to slip away. You have to, Bridget, don't stop to think about it, just go, and don't look back. Get as far away as you can as fast as you can. Run like the wind, and get help. I'll try to hold him off as long as I can, and then if I get a chance, I will try to catch up with you."

"I was wrong. Frank's not crazy. You are!" Bridget hissed through her teeth, trying to stop her voice from rising and coming out as a squeak that would no doubt raise Jesse's curiosity. "He'll shoot you dead on the spot!"

"No, I don't think so," he let out a soft sigh, disturbing the fine hairs that were loose around her forehead, genuinely touched that she seemed so concerned for his well being, despite the fact that they were, in reality, strangers.

This had the effect of making Bridget blink rapidly as she drew back from him, just a little, so that she could look up at him.

He could immediately see that her face had more color now, indeed her cheeks were burning with embarrassment and humiliation, as she turned dark sapphire blue eyes filled with shock and fear and uncertainty up at him, an expression of incredulity on her face that begged him to explain himself.

"I think it's all a front," Buddy sighed then noticed the challenging look on her face and realized that what had just happened to her had been very real.

"I know that what just happened was scary, but I don't think that he meant to really hurt you. I think he did it to remind us that he is the one who is in control," he explained, still whispering and lightly stroking a stray tendril of hair back off her brow as he gazed down at her with a steady, earnest expression on his face.

"Think about it for a minute. He's a big man, imposing, yes, and you don't have to be a rocket scientist to know what he was thinking, but that's just it, he **_wants _**you to think that. He's playing mind games with us, Bridget because that's all he has. He wants to manipulate us and control us with fear," he paused to take a small breath before continuing.

"I think we both know that if he had really wanted to hurt you, he could have done so and there would have been nothing that either one of us could do about it," he reached out to caress her hot cheek now, his eyes telling her that he knew exactly what Frank's intentions toward her had been, but also asking her to think rationally about it.

Bridget found herself nodding in agreement.

Frank had had more than enough opportunities to carry out his threats and yet every time he had backed off and made a joke out of it.

"I also think he's doing more up there than going to the bathroom."

This remark drew a questioning look from Bridget.

"I think he's looking for something to steal. Money or jewelry, something small that he can carry and maybe pawn or sell. He's going to need money, and I think that little display was his way of trying to scare us so badly we wouldn't get suspicious about how long he's been up there, and what he might be doing," he pointed out rationally.

"He's angry and frustrated that things don't seem to be panning out as he expected them to, and he's cunning and sly, but he's definitely not stupid. I think he's all mouth and no action. He likes waving that shotgun around, but my guess is its empty."

"No bullets?"

Bridget gulped as she suddenly began to realize that he had a point.

Both intruders were armed, but neither of them had made any real effort to actually fire their guns, relying on the threat rather than direct action. One shot up into the ceiling would have probably been all that it would have taken to underline their authority, but although they had made threats, neither man had acted on them, thankfully.

"No bullets," Buddy assured with a smile.

"You'll be taking an awful risk, if you're wrong."

"If I'm wrong, it won't matter much, I'll be dead, but at least it will give you a chance to make a run for it and give you a good head start," he paused, gazing deeply into her dark eyes.

"You'll have an advantage out there. You and Kenny know these hills. Frank doesn't," he pointed out softly, watching her face as she took in what he was saying and was relieved to see trust and understanding there.

"You're also lighter on your feet," he smiled softly down at her and suddenly felt compelled to lightly rub his thumb across her cheek once more, his index finger moving beneath her chin so that he could tilt her face back, allowing him to lean forward just a little more so that he could brush his lips lightly against hers, this time acting from his own desire and not just for show for Jesse.

He had so much admiration and respect for this strong, feisty woman who had thought nothing of her own safety or vulnerability when in his hour of need she had helped him and taken him in, and this was the only way that he could show her the depth of his gratitude for her help.

"I wish there was another way," he told her in a breathy whisper when he drew away from her, noting the startled expression on her face as she blinked rapidly up at him, and the deepening flush on her cheeks.

"If we wait to play this thing out, we're all dead," he told her honestly, needing her to understand that this was not something that he took lightly and that although he knew the risks, and although he had tried to think of some other way, after weighing everything up, this was their only viable option.

"My guess is that Frank has already accepted that Jesse is a dead man and he's just waiting to see if it happens naturally, but if Jesse is still hanging on by morning, I think Frank will take him out of the equation and then I will be next on the list."

"Even though he doesn't consider me to be a huge threat, he probably thinks that if he kills me he will have even more control over you and Kenny, and then he will probably force you and the boy to go with him," he began to spell it out for her, but as he finished speaking and waited for Bridget's reaction, expecting to see fear and denial in her eyes, Buddy was surprised to see her nodding, and the look on her face told him that she had already worked out that much for herself.

"Ok, ok, I get the point," she whispered back, raising her hand to gently cup his jaw, swallowing down her terror at the thought of what the morning would undoubtedly bring. "You don't have to paint me a picture."

"I figure the police are looking for two men and he thinks that a man a woman and a child will be less conspicuous. Once he gets you on to a main road he can flag down a car and no-one will be suspicious of a stranded family, until it's too late," he let out a ragged sigh. "He needs to get his hands on a vehicle, and I figure he thinks you and the boy will make that a little easier for him."

"He probably wants to make for the border," she whispered back, dropping her hand as she watched his brow crease as he regarded her questioningly and she suddenly remembered that he had no idea where he was.

"This is Washington State, Buddy, and he probably aims to make for the Canadian border which is about a couple of hundred miles north east of here, give or take a mile or two," she explained, watching understanding dawn in his eyes, only to be replaced by another questioning look.

"I don't want to die," she almost choked on the words as she saw the expectation in his eyes and knew that he was waiting for her promise. "But I don't think that I can make a promise that ultimately might mean your death," she added fighting back a sob.

"Your responsibility is to the boy and yourself," he reminded her gently. "He needs you. You're all that he has left."

"That's a low blow, mister. You sure don't fight fair," she accused, growling back at him in a low, ragged voice, but she knew that he was right. Kenny was her blood while he was a stranger, a very charming and endearing man, yes, but a stranger nevertheless.

"All's fair in love and war," he quipped, smiling softly.

"And a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do, right?"

"Right," he agreed on a whisper, his eyes boring into her face now as she raised a very shaky hand once more and used it to lightly cup his chin, her thumb gently stroking the stubble covered area of his cheek as she did so.

"Bridget?" he whispered her name carefully and softly, his eyes asking her to trust him and to go along with him, because it was the only chance they had.

"Ok," Bridget acquiesced on a long breath, closing her eyes briefly then opening them to find relief and resignation on his handsome face. "I promise," she added breathily. "But if you get yourself killed, I will never forgive you," she vowed.

"Thank you," he emitted a soft sigh. "For looking after me, and for trusting me," he blessed her with a soft smile as he savored the warmth and tenderness of her hand against his cheek.

"Don't let it go to your head, hot lips," she allowed herself a soft smile as she let her hand drift away from his face, despite the fact that her stomach was churning and her heart was racing in her breast at the prospect of what she would be faced with come first light.

"Take a look around you, Buddy. It's a choice between you or the other guy, and I don't think I could trust Frank as far as I could throw him, do you?" she quirked an eyebrow questioningly and allowed the smile to grow just a little brighter.

"I see what you mean," he found himself grinning back at her, amazed by her strength and her bravado.

"Now," she reached out once more to cup his jaw, capturing his chin between her fingers and fixing him with a steady, piercing deep sapphire stare. "I want you to make me a promise."

He responded by arching an eyebrow, although he suspected that he knew what she was going to say.

"Don't get this pretty head of yours blown off. I've gotten quite used to having it around," she leaned forward and lightly grazed his cheek with her lips. "And I really don't want to have to be the one to break the news to your Caitlin," she whispered softly close to his ear.

This had the immediate effect of sobering him, a solemn expression drawing down his handsome features as he took in her words, as she slowly drew away from him again.

For a moment, Bridget saw something flicker through his eyes, and she wasn't sure if it was because he was suddenly less confident that Frank's gun really was empty after all, or if since this thing had begun he had again forgotten about his girlfriend, and that her untimely reminder had made him stop and consider what the news of his death might mean to her.

"I promise," he spoke the words at last in a low, deep, ragged voice, his chin rising defiantly as he drew in a long, deep breath, then suddenly clamped his lips together, his eyes darting to the other side of the room where Jesse was watching them curiously and she could see the anxiety flash through his eyes as he began to wonder if the man had over heard any of their conversation and might warn his companion.

"I'm real sorry about this," Jesse reached out for the handgun once more, his hands shaking so badly he needed both of them to raise the weapon and hold it steady, pointing it in their direction as he lifted his eyes to the second floor gallery where suddenly they could hear heavy footsteps coming their way.

"I wish I could let you go right now, but you wouldn't get far in the dark," he added in a low voice, surprising both Bridget and Buddy.

"I didn't want any of this," he explained in hushed tones. "But Frank's a hard man to say no to. And I'm real sorry you got dragged into it. I'll try to help you get away, if I can, but you'd better watch your step from now on. Frank's real mad and he ain't stupid. He's gonna know you'd use the time he's been gone to try to hatch some plan," he warned them. "And he ain't gonna be pleased if he don't find what he's looking for."

Buddy remained silent as they heard the heavy footsteps getting closer and closer, but nodded in silent acknowledgement of Jesse's assessment of the situation and his gratitude for any help the other man might be able to offer, sensing that he knew that he did not have much time left and was seeking some way to repent for his part in this nasty business, whilst also confirming his suspicions that Frank had been using his time upstairs to search for something valuable to steal.

"Everything ok, Jesse?" Frank's voice suddenly boomed out from the top of the stairs, a sour, disgruntled look on his face as he moved his eyes between the trio seated on the couch and his accomplice, who was covering them with his weapon and watching their every move, and satisfied that Jesse seemed to have everything under control he began to clatter down the stairs.

"Well, ain't this cozy," he quipped as he came to a halt at the bottom of the stairs and took in the sight of Bridget, Kenny and Buddy all huddled together on the couch and from the expression on his face, Buddy began to suspect that he wasn't happy to have all three of them together and was not surprised when next he spoke. "I'm real thirsty, Midge, how about some more coffee?"

His tone implied that it was more an order than a question and so dragging in a quick, steadying breath, Bridget touched Kenny's back lightly, indicating that she needed him to move when he raised his face to look up at her.

When the child reluctantly clambered out of her lap and sat at the other end of the couch, Bridget cast an anxious glance up at Buddy, who gave her a quick, reassuring smile, then she drew away from the warmth and comfort of his embrace and warily rose from the couch, striding slowly across the room and quickly dodging around Frank, making sure to keep her distance from him as she scurried past him and into the kitchen, with his raucous and sickening laughter once again ringing in her ears.


	24. Chapter 24

**_Chapter Twenty Three._**

_**Some where outside of Weaver,**__** Washington State,**_

_**Airwolf's camp.**_

_**Approximately 4.30am.**_

The sun was not yet peeking up over the distant horizon, although tiny slivers of pre dawn light were creeping across the tops of the distant mountains as the sleepy trio of Caitlin O'Shannessy, Megan Ravenson and Dominic Santini slowly prepared to greet the new day.

All three had slept fitfully and lightly, as though unable to completely relax, and in the case of Dominic Santini, troubled by discomfort in his lower back and legs after the long day of flying and driving to get up here.

After he had finished recounting his humorous war story to Caitlin and Megan, Dominic Santini had grown quiet and thoughtful, solemn and withdrawn.

After briefly setting out his plans for the following day they had all fallen into silent contemplation and Santini had taken this as his cue to bid the others good night and had excused himself, claiming weariness and a need to get a good night's sleep.

However, in truth, although the ladies were pleasant and easy company, he had needed some time to himself, unable to get Steven Hawke and Harry and Muriel Manning off his mind, and guilt had twisted his guts for several hours, giving him chronic indigestion, because since this business with String had begun, he had not had a chance to call Harry and catch up with his old buddy, and to inquire how Muriel was doing.

In the still quietness of the early hours Santini had finally admitted to himself that he had been glad for an excuse not to call Harry because he knew that he would not be able to deal with his old friend's understandable grief if Muriel Manning had indeed slipped away, and that had made him feel even more guilty and uncomfortable in his own skin.

Eventually exhaustion, and frustration at the direction of his thoughts had won out and sleep had finally claimed him, but even his dreams had been unsettling, filled with reminders of the wars that he had fought in and the friends that he had made, and lost, over the years, so that he had been glad when he had awoken, grateful for some time to shake off the memories and the ghosts and the melancholy that had settled over him the previous night.

He had risen carefully, nursing his aches and pains as he had splashed cold water over his face to hurry along the process of driving sleep from his mind and to help him to focus on the task ahead, and then he had filled the coffee pot with grounds and water and set it to heat over the camp fire before changing out of his street clothes and donning the snug, padded grey Airwolf flight suit.

Before retiring the previous evening, Santini had briefed Megan and Caitlin on his plans for the morning and after agreeing a time for their departure and the area that they would search when he and Caitlin took Airwolf up, Megan Ravenson had made a suggestion of her own.

Megan had explained that she knew that there would not be enough room for her in the helicopter, and that she doubted that she would be of much help to Santini and Caitlin up there anyway; however, she also knew that she did not simply want to be left behind, twiddling her thumbs, not knowing what was happening and worrying herself sick.

Megan had explained to Santini and Caitlin, in a quiet but determined voice, that she still wanted to help and had suggested walking back to Weaver, going back to the general store when it opened for business, because she wanted to ask Zee McVey if he had heard if there had been a fire on one of the local properties in the last couple of weeks.

She had pointed out to Santini and Caitlin that it was reasonable to expect that news of a tragedy such as a fire that had claimed the life of a man and his livestock would have spread through the community like the proverbial wildfire and both had agreed with her, each casting a quick glance at the other, silently asking why neither of them had thought of it and grateful to Megan Ravenson for making the suggestion.

If Zee McVey did know of such an incident, and where it had occurred, Megan's plan was to ask him if he would help her to start a ground search in that area, perhaps even try to persuade him to ask some of the local men to join them, in the hope that they could perhaps be able to guide Santini in Airwolf, to the exact location.

Although Dominic Santini had had some qualms about involving strangers, he had had to agree that a synchronized aerial and ground search would cover more ground, and had silently acknowledged that right now, he could not afford to turn down any kind of help, no matter where it came from.

Santini knew full well how Archangel would react when he got wind of it, but Airwolf was one secret that he was willing to share, if it meant getting his beloved String back safely and quickly, because he had learned a long time ago that some times you had to be willing to offer a little trust to get a job done.

It was the one thing that he had yet to get Stringfellow Hawke to believe, that no one man could deal with everything by himself and that sometimes you had to ignore your instincts and let your guard down, bury your obstinacy and your pride and accept help when it was offered.

No, that wasn't strictly true anymore.

Santini knew that Stringfellow Hawke had relaxed his stance a little in the last couple of years.

When The Firm had first come to him, asking him to get Airwolf back for them, String had known that he could not do the job alone and so he had turned to the one man that he knew that he could trust implicitly, his old friend, Dominic Santini.

Since then, Hawke had learned to drop his guard, just a little. He had been forced to admit that he could not always work alone, and now that trust extended to include Caitlin O'Shannessy, and although not completely, to Michael Coldsmith Briggs III, otherwise known as Archangel, Deputy Director of Special Projects with The Firm who had proved his worth by running interference with those who would like to relieve Hawke of his control of Airwolf and who had tried, on occasion, to fulfill his promise to try to find out more about what had happened to St John Hawke.

Stringfellow Hawke knew that he was no longer alone, out on a limb and facing adversity by himself. He was the leader of very special team, and as he had had to learn to rely on them more and more, with deepening trust had also come friendship, and he had learned to open himself to life a little more.

It had been a real joy for Dominic Santini to watch his young friend blossoming and embracing life more instead of locking himself away up there at Eagle Lake, gripped by the firm belief that the only way for him to survive was to be alone, to keep the rest of the world at arm's length because if it did not touch him it could not hurt him and so long as he remained alone no one else could come to harm because of him.

Stringfellow Hawke was a charming and likeable young man with qualities that those whom he did allow to get close to him admired and respected.

Santini knew that he only had to look around him this morning to see the love and admiration and respect that he inspired, and the depth of affection and friendship that those lucky few he allowed close to him felt for Stringfellow Hawke.

He also knew that his old friend Steven Hawke would have been so proud of the man that his youngest son had become and found himself praying that Steven understood just how difficult that young man had made it for him over the years, to fulfill the promise that he had made to his father, that he would always be there to take care of him, and that he hadn't let his friend down.

Santini knew that he had fussed over the younger Hawke son and had probably been over protective and overbearing sometimes in his efforts to stop String's head long rush into damnation, but he had felt the failure of his promise to Steven very deeply, when the eldest Hawke son had not returned from Vietnam, although he knew that there had been nothing that he could do to protect Sinjin Hawke, that the young man's determination to fight for what he believed in had outweighed all of Santini's arguments so that in the end he had had to submit to the young man's stronger will.

Dominic Santini had lived with the guilt and the grief of his loss every day since he had heard the terrible news that he was missing, and he knew that he would not be able to live with himself if something awful had happened to String, and he might have been able to prevent it.

It had not been easy.

He was not the young man's father and there was a very fine line between what he as a friend and guardian could say and do to try to get through to Hawke without driving a wedge between them and alienating his young friend, and there had been times when Santini had feared that the young man was determined to destroy himself, believing that only by risking his life needlessly could he justify his continued existence, and Dominic found him self thanking God now that those days seemed to be behind him at last.

As the first fingers of dawn light began to illuminate the eastern skies, Santini joined Caitlin and Megan around the camp fire for coffee and something to eat, all three silent and thoughtful, sipping their coffee and picking disinterestedly over bowls of canned fruit, and then the meal complete, as she collected the dirty dishes and cleared away the debris, Megan Ravenson gradually became aware of a change in Dominic Santini and Caitlin O'Shannessy, both seeming to grow serious and businesslike, their minds focused as they worked together to remove the heavy, cumbersome camouflage netting from Airwolf and then began to check over every inch of her thoroughly.

They worked in perfect harmony, mostly in silence, speaking only when they needed clarification or confirmation of some detail, each aware of the other and what needed to be done, comfortable and familiar with each other, while Megan did her bit in breaking camp, removing the sleeping bags so that they could be stored in Airwolf's hold once more and dousing the fire, clearing the ground so that nothing was left to foul Airwolf's rotors when she took off.

Finally, full daylight at last, it was time to go, and after hugging both Caitlin O'Shannessy and Dominic Santini and wishing them well as she offered them a reassuring smile, Megan Ravenson had moved well back out of the way and watched as Dominic Santini fired up the engines, the main rotor whipping up a storm of wind and dust as it built up speed, whirling faster and faster until the beautiful machine was rocking and vibrating with the momentum and power it generated, until finally, the majestic helicopter rose from the ground.

Feeling suddenly very small against the awesome and magnificent mountain vista, alone and ineffectual, Megan Ravenson was forced to watch as Airwolf climbed gracefully into the golden light of the dawn and quickly disappeared from view, and as she stood there, Megan found herself praying for a swift and successful conclusion to their mission and that Stringfellow Hawke would be back among the people who loved him before the sun set once more on this day.

0-0-0-0

_**A short time later,**_

_**Inside Airwolf ….**_

"This is it, Dom," Caitlin O'Shannessy advised in businesslike tones, eyes dancing between flashing lights on different instrument panels before, around and beside her position in the avionics bay.

"This is the place Hawke was heading for, and that must be Charlie Roth's cabin, dead ahead," she told him watching the monitor as it presented her with a picture of nothing more than a tumbled down old wooden shack surrounded by trees, unable to get a clear view through the front windshield because Santini's head and shoulders were blocking her view.

As he brought Airwolf in for a low sweep across the gently rippling waters of the lake, Dominic Santini too found himself with an unhindered view of the lopsided shack and closed his eyes briefly for a moment, trying to imagine how anyone could survive living in such primitive conditions in this day and age. Stringfellow Hawke's cabin up on Eagle Lake was a palace compared to this very humble, ramshackle dwelling.

"Anybody home?" Santini asked, forcing his mind back on the mission.

They had decided to start the search for Stringfellow Hawke at the furthest point north from Weaver, Charlie Roth's cabin on the far side of High Lake just to be absolutely certain that Hawke had indeed not made it to his intended destination.

Santini knew that it was a long shot, and it wasn't as if he had suddenly begun to doubt that Megan had been right all along, but he also knew that he had to make certain, for they would all feel rather foolish if it turned out that String was sitting in a row boat out in the middle of the lake dangling a fishing line into the water and patiently waiting for his breakfast to take the bait.

Megan had understood that they needed to cover all the bases and had not taken offense when Dominic had explained that their search area would begin at Charlie Roth's cabin and that once they had confirmed Hawke's never having arrived there, he planned to back track to the spot where she had sensed that his Jeep had gone off the road.

As soon as they had made their approach to the lake, a beautiful wide expanse of crystal clear water tapering into the shape of a bottleneck, surrounded on all sides by steep wooded slopes, Santini had told Caitlin to begin scanning the area, and he knew that she had everything cranked up and running at maximum sensitivity, thermal, infra red and standard scans and that she was also scanning audio too.

If Hawke was out there and Airwolf's scanners couldn't locate him on the ground, if he was able to shout for help, they would hear him and be able to triangulate his position.

Caitlin, Santini knew, would also be checking all radio transmissions, automatically cycling the radio equipment through every frequency, just in case Zee McVey tried to make contact with them to give them directions.

Before leaving that morning, Dominic Santini had reminded Megan that the man had told them that he had been trying to reach Charlie Roth by radio and that if she could persuade him to join the ground search for Hawke it would be the ideal way for them to keep in contact.

Santini had also suggested that Cait monitor local radio station news bulletins and local police radio bands to keep up with the progress on the man hunt for the two fugitives.

So far, Cait had eaves dropped on a lot of CB chatter, Citizen Band radio, favored by long distance truck drivers, using their own flowery language to communicate to each other, warning of hazards on the road ahead, and the local radio station had again featured the story about the two men on the run from the police, but there had been nothing new to add to the bulletins they had broadcast throughout most of the previous day, the only concrete fact being that both men were still out there on the loose and still a real threat to all local citizens.

And of course, still a threat to Stringfellow Hawke, and whoever had given him shelter.

As he brought Airwolf around once more for another low sweep of High Lake and the surrounding area, Dominic Santini knew that there was nothing down there that would help them, and a few seconds later Caitlin confirmed it for him.

"Nothing's moving down there, Dom. Even the birds are having a lie in," she sighed softly into the microphone of her helmet.

"Smart critters," Santini sighed back and pulled back on the cyclic to lift Airwolf's nose, steadily gaining altitude as he banked her away from the sun dappled, glistening surface of the lake and headed south once more, making for the spot where Megan had sensed that Hawke and his Jeep had gone off the road and parted company.

Conversation between him self and Caitlin had thus far been minimal, confined to acknowledgements regarding instrument readings and his requests for various pieces of information, Cait keeping her thoughts to herself and focusing on the instruments before her, and Dominic Santini took this to be an indication of the depth of her real feelings.

Usually the fiery redhead was a real chatterbox and could be counted on to fill the tense silences of some of their most recent missions with inane babble, which drove himself and String nuts most of the time, although, Santini silently conceded, it was a habit that he was also prone too, finding Hawke's solemn stone faced silences uncomfortable and hard to bear at times.

The fact that Cait was quiet and reserved spoke volumes to Santini, telling him that she was anxious about their mission and Hawke's condition and scared about what would happen beyond the moment of reunion.

Dominic Santini wanted to reassure Caitlin and tell her that she had nothing to worry about, that String loved her and everything would work its self out in time, but he had kept silent, knowing that he wasn't the one she wanted to hear those things from.

Caitlin needed to hear those reassurances from Stringfellow Hawke own lips, needed to know once and for all how he felt about her and what he saw for himself in the future, so that she too could begin to make some decisions about her own future.

Dominic knew that he could tell Caitlin that Hawke loved her until the cows came home, but he also knew that he would be wasting his breath because the only one she would ever truly believe was String, and in truth, Santini did not know if Hawke would ever be ready to admit the truth to himself, much less confess his true feelings to Caitlin.

It should be a simple thing, to look her in the eye, examine his heart and then be honest with her, but he had never yet been able to accuse Stringfellow Hawke of taking the easy path in anything.

Santini somehow suspected that there was way more heartache, uncertainty and angst in the future for both young people as they wrangled with their true feelings and debated about the wisdom in exposing their hearts to each other.

However, the most important thing to both of them this morning was finding their friend and getting him home. The rest of it would just have to wait.

"Anything on the radio yet?" Santini asked, seeking to occupy his mind elsewhere, knowing that whatever the Fates had in store for his two young friends, he was fated to be a mere bystander, witnessing events as they unfolded but powerless to influence their outcome.

"Nothing new," Caitlin responded in a low, solemn voice and Dominic Santini suspected that he had caught her while her mind had been occupied with other things. However, he could not blame her. He suspected that behind the calm, professional exterior, Caitlin O'Shannessy was in utter emotional turmoil.

"The police have extra patrols in the local townships but there haven't been any fresh sightings, and the local radio station has already down graded the story, only third on their list of headlines last bulletin," she informed in a more businesslike tone, but spoiled the effect by choking on her own voice as she finished.

"Cait," Santini began, keeping his own tone gentle and understanding because he really did understand how she must be feeling.

Torn.

Overjoyed at the prospect of seeing the man that she loved, yet knowing that she might not be able to hide her true feelings for him any longer, and fearing that that might just tip the balance for him, and instead of embracing her love for him, Hawke might shut that door in her face, permanently.

"I'm ok, " Caitlin responded swiftly, but again there was a catch in her voice.

"Like hell you are," Santini sighed. "Your hands are shaking and your guts are doing cartwheels, I know kid, 'cos mine are too," he confided gently.

There followed a lengthy silence in the cockpit, broken only by the sound of Caitlin sniffing loudly as she fought with her emotions and busied herself with checking instruments, even though her vision was impaired with the tears welling up in her eyes and threatening to spill over and fall through her lashes.

"Cait," Santini spoke up at last, his heart going out to his young companion. "We will find him," he told her confidently because with each validation and confirmation of the information provided by Megan Ravenson's dream, he had grown more and more certain that they were indeed on the right track and that they would find Stringfellow Hawke.

"I know," Caitlin sniffed again, raising her hand to dash away a lone tear trickling down her cheek but found herself hampered by her helmet. However, like Santini, she sounded confident that they would achieve their goal. "But I can't stop thinking about what we might find."

_**So that was it,**_ Santini thought silently to himself.

_**She was scared that he might be badly hurt; that he might even be dying and that they would get there too late.**_

The same thought had occurred to him, but then he had remembered Meg's assurance from the very start that Hawke's life was not in danger.

"Megan said that he isn't too badly hurt, Cait. Remember?" Santini reminded.

"She also said that she thinks that he has lost his memory. Did you think about that, Dom?" Caitlin breathed hard into the microphone of her helmet, making Santini wince.

"I did. In fact I can't stop thinking about it, Dom. What if he doesn't remember Airwolf? What if he doesn't remember us? What if our just turning up out of the blue like that scares him out of his wits and he follows his instinct to run?"

Santini found himself nodding as she spoke, well able to imagine a lost and disorientated Hawke, with no memory of who he was or where he came from, suddenly coming face to face with this beautiful black and white monster. His most basic instinct would be to flee and make a run for it, but there was danger for him in doing so, because he didn't know the terrain and would have no idea if the next step he took would take him over the edge of a deadly drop.

"What if he bolts, Dom? He could fall and hurt himself even more."

_**For crying out loud, was she a mind reader now**__** too!**_

Dominic Santini quickly rolled his eyes heavenward in exasperation.

_**What did she think, he was stupid? Didn't she know that he would have thought about that too? **_

Of course he had, but it wasn't something that he had any control over and so he had decided that he would cross that bridge when he got to it.

A lot of things had to happen before they reached the point where they may have to face that situation and Santini wanted to make sure that he covered all the bases, dotted all the I's and crossed all the T's before he started worrying about how String might react when confronted with Airwolf, and the very real possibility that they could end up driving him into even greater danger.

_**They had to find the young man first!**_

"I thought we could maybe broadcast a message to him, let him know that we're looking for him, but if he has lost his memory, calling him String and reassuring him that we're out here might not mean anything to him. He might not even realize that we're talking to him," Caitlin sighed heavily once more into the microphone inside her helmet.

Santini had thought about that too, and had realized the futility of it, just as it had been futile when String himself had done something similar the last time they had traced down a lead on St John.

Once again disappointed at the outcome, the grief stricken, Stringfellow Hawke had flown over the wooded Asian mountain side vowing to his brother, uncaring if he could hear him or not, that he would be back, that he would never stop looking for him, and it had torn at Santini's heart to hear the sorrow and yet defiance in String's voice as he made that pledge to Sinjin.

However, there was one other thing that Santini had taken into consideration, during his deliberations, which Caitlin had obviously overlooked.

"Meg also said that she didn't think that String is alone, Cait," he reminded her softly.

"Yeah," Caitlin sighed, but there was something in her tone now that suddenly made Santini frown.

"Huh?"

"Well, that's another thing, Dom, darn it. Isn't that just typical of Hawke! No matter what kind of trouble he ends up in, somehow he always managed to fall into the open arms of some woman!"

Dominic Santini could not stop himself from laughing out loud at this remark.

He knew that it was entirely the wrong thing to do, but he simply could not stop himself.

**_Poor Caitlin._**

She wasn't so much concerned about finding Hawke with broken bones as falling foul of her own broken heart, if he had found himself another love interest while he had not been in his right mind.

However, although he was amused, and knew that Caitlin was over reacting, because Hawke's savior could just as easily be a man as a woman, and Megan hadn't actually specified a gender, he was also deeply aware that her reaction stemmed from the depth of her true feelings for Hawke and her uncertainty about String's feelings for her.

She loved him.

Heaven help her, but she did.

She was only human, after all, and it had to hurt every time she saw Hawke showing an interest in other ladies, when he did not seem able to show Caitlin more than a little brotherly concern.

Obviously it hadn't hurt her any less because Hawke hadn't gotten too deeply involved with any of those women and committed his heart to any one of them in particular, but Dominic Santini suspected that that had somehow hurt Caitlin more, because Hawke just didn't seem to be able to see her for what she was, a warm, vibrant, attractive and caring woman who was already so very much in love with him.

It had been a bitter pill for Caitlin to swallow, but to her credit, she hadn't allowed her heartache and disappointment to affect her relationship with Hawke, even though her heart was really breaking, and she must have felt as though she was going to be taking up permanent residence in Pain City.

"Cait," Santini quickly pulled himself together, not wanting to anger her and trying to find some pearls of wisdom to reassure her but coming up short.

"I know, Dom. I should be grateful that he's safe and that someone is looking out for him," her voice caught in the back of her throat again, and again Santini found his heart going out to Caitlin.

However, he also knew that he had to take her mind off her troubles and get her to refocus on the task at hand.

"What's our ETA?" he asked now, hoping to distract her.

"About ten minutes," Caitlin duly replied.

"You getting anything? Anything at all?"

"Sure, Dom," Caitlin replied in irritation now, which was exactly the reaction that Santini had been hoping for. Irritation he could deal with and it was certainly better than the self pity she had been wallowing in previously. "Lots of little furry things, but nothing that looks remotely like a man!"

"Little furry things, huh," Santini smirked and the amusement in his tone must have struck a chord with Caitlin.

"Yeah. Furry things. Lots of squirrels and skunks and rabbits," Santini could tell from her voice that she was grinning now.

"Anything with feathers?"

"Yeah, of course," she paused for a moment before giving him the run down on the different species of birds Airwolf had identified for her, then suddenly realized what Santini was really talking about. "Feathers? As in Hawke?"

"Yeah," he groaned sarcastically. "Of course, Hawke! What else would we be doing out here at the crack of dawn on a Sunday for cryin' out loud! Taking up bird spotting!" Santini again rolled his eyes heavenward, but even as he did so he knew that he had had achieved his purpose.

"Thanks, Dom."

"For what?"

"For being you."

"Well that's all right honey, but you just keep your eyes peeled for our particular little feathered friend and shout out when you spot him."

"You can count on it!"

0-0-0-0

_**Meanwhile, somewhere in Washington State.**_

Bridget Goodwin was startled awake by the sound of her brother, George's aging cockerel, his full throated cockadoodaldoo filling the back yard and ricocheting around the surrounding mountains as he enthusiastically greeted the new day, and rapidly blinking the sleep from her eyes she scanned the living area of the cabin, only to find that nothing had changed while she had been dozing.

She was quite surprised to find that she had nodded off at all. She was so wound up and anxious, terrified that Frank would kick off again and use her to torment her family, and waiting for some clue from Buddy that he was ready to make his move, she had not thought that she would get even a wink of sleep, but her eyes had grown heavy and she had been unable to fight it any longer.

After the last time that she had made coffee and checked on Jesse's shoulder, Frank had made sure that Bridget had not been able to rejoin Buddy and Kenny on the couch, forcing her instead to take the armchair where she had spent the previous night watching over Buddy as he had slept, dozing fitfully.

While she had been out of the room making the coffee, Kenny had curled up against the other arm of the couch, probably encouraged by Buddy who would not want him to be in the way when he was ready to cause the distraction that was meant to enable them to flee, and pretty soon the child had been snoring softly and whimpering occasionally as his dreams disturbed him.

The adults had all sat in awkward silence, watching each other suspiciously as the tension around them grew and grew and they waited for first light.

As she had fought to keep sleep at bay, Bridget had found herself looking into Buddy's relaxed and emotionless face, her eyes seeking his, and she suddenly realized that he was nodding gently at her as he gave her a swift, understanding smile, as though he was trying to tell her that it would be all right to sleep, silently reminding her that she would need all of her energy and her wits if she and Kenny were going to get away safely and that it would seem natural to Frank, perhaps even take the man's mind off her, forcing him to focus on Buddy instead, so that when he was ready to make his move, Frank would be occupied with dealing with Buddy and she and Kenny could slip away unnoticed.

Still, for some time after that she had fought to stay awake, however, it seemed that she must have lost that battle at some point, at first just planning to close her eyes, still able to hear whenever one of the other's shifted position in their seats and her nephew's nocturnal murmurings, but then she must have drifted off.

She found herself wondering if Buddy had closed his eyes and gotten any rest, but, somehow, she doubted it. His distrust of Frank would have ensured that he remained awake and watchful.

Now, as the cockerel finished his serenade to the sun, Bridget moved her gaze slowly around the room, noting that Kenny had changed his position, turning over to snuggle up against the back rest of the couch, knees drawn up into his chest and was apparently still sleeping soundly.

Buddy was wide awake, looking tired and drawn, and acknowledged her by blinking his eyes slowly and deliberately and she blinked back, a smile briefly touching her lips as she directed her gaze away from Buddy to settle instead on Frank.

He was straddling one of the dining chairs in front of the arch that lead to the kitchen, his dark, beady eyes fixed firmly on Buddy's passive, expressionless face.

Jesse remained at the pine table, arms folded flat on its polished surface and his head resting on his forearms. The last time that she had checked on him he had been barely conscious and now, as she looked more closely at his bowed head, Bridget realized that he wasn't simply sleeping. He seemed to be unusually still, and she had to stop herself from emitting a startled gasp as she realized that neither his chest nor his shoulders were moving any more, and the implication of that observation.

Jesse was dead.

He must have slipped away while she had been napping, and although it was no great surprise to her, Bridget could not help feeling sorry for him. She suspected that he had been a weak man, in over his head, dragged into this thing by the stronger willed and more over bearing Frank, and that no matter what he had done, he did not deserve to die for it, especially as his death might have been prevented if they had sought the help of Doc Brunswick.

With her heart beating rapidly in her chest, Bridget also realized that whatever Buddy was planning, he was going to have to do it soon.

She flicked her eyes back toward him and knew from the glitter in his eyes that he was aware of Jesse's demise too, and she sensed that he was just waiting for the right moment, now that she was awake and he knew that it would soon be full daylight outside.

Bridget knew that she was right when he continued to stare back at her, holding her gaze as though trying to warn her to be on her guard and ready to make her escape with Kenny and she blinked back slowly, confirming that she understood.

Covering the silent exchange quickly, yawning long and stretching languidly, Bridget edged forward in her seat and then turned her head to fix her steady gaze on Frank.

He was still sitting straddled across the dining chair, one forearm resting across the top rail of the chair back, shotgun held tightly under his armpit, the other hand lightly caressing the trigger and stock and firing mechanism, part of the barrel resting on top of the forearm, the tip trained on Buddy's head and Jesse's handgun poking out of the waistband of his jeans.

As her eyes met his, Frank's lips twitched, turning upward in a kind of knowing smile, and for an instant, Bridget felt her heart skip a beat and her stomach roil against her spine as she began to suspect that Frank knew exactly what they were planning and that he was ready for them.

She also quickly realized that he knew as well as they did that his companion had expired and that he was just waiting until it was light enough for them to be able to leave safely.

"I'd better go put some fresh coffee on," Bridget spoke absently, dragging her fingers roughly through her hair, but unable to drag her eyes away from Frank's smug, face.

"No," Frank told her in a deep, defiant voice. "I think we've all had enough coffee."

"What about something to eat?" she offered, although they both knew that there was little left in any of the cupboards, and Frank responded predictably with a shout of laughter and with a sickening grin.

"No. I don't think so," he drawled. "I wouldn't want to out stay my welcome," he then turned his attention to Buddy as he rose from the chair, again kicking it roughly out of his way as he kept the shotgun trained on Buddy's head and began to move toward the couch.

"Gimme the bracelet," Frank demanded, moving quickly toward Buddy with his free hand outstretched.

"Bracelet?" Buddy frowned, genuinely surprised by the demand, but then he remembered that Frank must have seen it when he had helped Kenny to take him up to the bathroom.

"Yeah man, the bracelet. It is silver, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Buddy sighed heavily, a vivid wave of outrage washing over him at the mere thought of being separated from the precious piece of jewelry and in that instant, he knew that he would rather die than hand the bracelet over to Frank. "I guess," he hissed through his teeth.

"Probably not worth much, but I gotta have something for my trouble, you understand. I might be able to get a few dollars for it, food and gas money," Frank sneered somehow suddenly sensing the true importance of the trinket to the man he was goading, greedily reassessing the true value of the bracelet.

Maybe it wasn't just plain silver after all, but platinum or maybe even white gold, either of which would give him a few more dollars in his back pocket, and buy him some time when he got to Canada.

"Hand it over. Now!"

Frank drew up in front of Buddy as he finished speaking and lifted the end of the shotgun barrel so that he could press the cold metal slap bang in the middle of Buddy's forehead and loudly clicked off the safety catch.

Bridget remained rigid in her seat, transfixed, her heart racing in her breast as she watched in horror, sensing that the moment of truth had finally arrived, and getting the distinct impression that this was not the kind of distraction that Buddy had had in mind, as she silently prayed that Buddy was right and neither of the weapons in Frank's possession had any ammunition in them.

As she watched events unfold, as though in slow motion, Bridget swiftly regained her wits, knowing that she had to use the confrontation to cover her own movements so that she could collect Kenny in readiness to make their escape.

She found herself rising slowly from her seat and even though she could not take her eyes off what was going on across the room, she began to edge her way toward the far end of the couch where Kenny still appeared to be sleeping, his back turned toward her and his face nuzzling the soft upright cushions of the couch back.

Using the fact that Frank was focused on Buddy, Bridget slowly inched her way across the room, dropping to her knees as she drew up beside the far end of the couch and keeping her head down, reached up over the arm to lightly nudge Kenny's shoulder.

She was startled when the child reacted quickly, raising his head and turning to look at her with clear, understanding blue eyes.

He knew that the time had come and what was expected of him, and Bridget suddenly felt her heart swell with pride and love for him as he gave her a quick, conspiratorial wink and wide, cheeky grin.

He should be terrified out of his tiny mind, but instead, Kenny was excited and eager to get moving.

A sudden movement at the other end of the couch distracted her for a moment, drawing her eyes and she watched as Buddy slowly stretched out his right arm before him, the movement pulling back the cuff of his pajama shirt sleeve to reveal the sliver of silver circling his wrist and then reluctantly he raised his left hand, obviously intending to use it to remove the bracelet.

As he did so, Bridget watched Frank take a step forward, his hand still outstretched ready to receive his prize, a smug, self satisfied expression on his face.

It was at that moment that Buddy chose to act, using the fact that Frank was focused on the treasure he was about to receive and that for the first time, he had the element of surprise on his side.

Gritting his teeth against the pain that he knew was coming, Buddy suddenly swung out his right hand, roughly shoving the barrel of the shotgun away from his brow and sending the weapon clattering to the ground, as he followed the move by dropping his head and pushing off from the seat cushion.

Plowing forward, he drove his head straight into Frank's midriff, forcing the air out of the man's lungs as he rose to his feet, using his full body weight to propel the startled Frank backward across the room.

However, as he moved forward his feet became entangled in the quilt that had been draped across his lap and he staggered, driving his head deeper into Frank's belly and in the next instant the two men were rolling around on the floor, grappling with each other and trading punches.

"Kenny!" Bridget hissed rising to her full height and reaching out to grab the boy, who quickly bounced off the end of the couch and rushed into her open arms. "C'mon, let's go," she whispered, spinning him around so that they were facing the cabin door, trying to keep Kenny's attention fixed on their purpose and away from his natural inclination to join the fray on the floor a few feet away.

Bridget moved toward the door, keeping Kenny close by her side, however she could not stop herself from turning her head back and watching as the men fought, rolling around on the ground, trading punches and kicks as each tried to fend off the other and get to their feet.

She could see the shotgun just a few feet away and for a split second debated with herself whether or not to go and pick it up but then she remembered Buddy's words to her earlier, that she had to forget about him and concentrate on herself and Kenny, that she had to focus on getting away and raising the alarm.

However, even as the thought flashed through her mind she realized that Buddy wasn't doing so well in the battle of wills across the living area, on the receiving end of several very heavy blows from Frank who seemed to have gained the upper hand and was lashing out with one of his meaty fists at Buddy's prominent chin and pummeling him in the ribs, belly and kidneys with the other.

Outraged and terrified that no matter how hard he tried Buddy was never going to get the better of Frank in a fist fight, and she and Kenny would only have a few seconds head start before the enraged Frank came after them, Bridget's instincts kicked in and before she knew what she was doing she was pushing Kenny toward the door telling him to run, and then she was rushing back toward the shotgun, making a grab for it as out of the corner of her eye she spotted Buddy taking a wild flying kick at Frank in some kind of weird Kung Fu move.

Buddy's foot connected with Frank's ribs and again knocked the wind out of him, but Buddy lost his balance at the end of the move and tumbled to the ground, breathless, trying to roll out of the way whilst at the same time, clutching his own ribs as he tried to drag air into his lungs.

As Frank regained his equilibrium and began to roar, charging toward Buddy once more to continue the onslaught, Bridget was checking the cylinder of the shotgun, praying that Buddy had been wrong and that she would find one bullet left there, which she could use to stop Frank and give them all time to get away and seek help, never more grateful to her father for teaching her how to handle a hunting rifle when she had been a teenager, but she was instantly disappointed to see that Buddy had indeed been right, both the cylinder and the chamber were empty.

Suddenly consumed by white hot rage that all this time Frank had indeed been toying with them and using their own fear against them, afraid no longer, Bridget turned the weapon, grabbing hold of the metal barrel giving it a wild test swing, her intention to use the heavy wooden stock as a club, then charging forward, and with all her might, brought it down repeatedly upon Frank's back, screaming at the top of her lungs as she did so, releasing all her pent up anger and frustration, overjoyed to see the big man bringing up his hands to protect the back of his head as she reigned blow after blow down upon him.

However, her joy was short lived for after the fourth whack, Bridget heard a loud cracking noise and soon realized that the wooden stock had splintered and that the shotgun had suddenly completely lost it's effectiveness as a weapon.

This gave Frank the reprieve that he needed to get the upper hand in his scuffle with Buddy once more, laying into the lighter man with an enraged roar, obviously discounting the woman as any kind of real threat to him, but as Buddy blocked and parried, defending himself whilst also trying to land his own blows, Bridget would not be beaten, and once again consumed with anger, she reached out for one of the dining chairs, and lifting it up over her head, arms shaking with the effort, staggered toward Frank's back ready to bring it down upon him.

However, in the time it had taken for her to grab the chair the fighting men had moved further around the room, avoiding the furniture as best they could, but as Bridget followed them, charging up toward Frank's back, arm muscles burning and quivering, suddenly, the bigger man's fist connected with Buddy's jaw, thrusting it up into the air and whipping his head back, and as she followed through on the move and brought the chair down on the unsuspecting Frank, Bridget found herself watching as Buddy flew across the room, the momentum of the huge punch sending him sprawling backward, landing in an undignified heap, his head bouncing off the stone fireplace with a sickening crunch.

At the same time, Bridget broke the chair over Frank's head and he went down like a ton of bricks.

However her triumph was short lived as even though he went down, he refused to stay down and in the next instant Frank was shaking off the wooden splinters, all that was left of the chair and Bridget found herself marveling that for a man of his size, stunned as he obviously was, he could still move really quickly.

Even as she thought about turning on her heels and running she found him bearing down on her, his face flushed with anger, closing the small gap between them swiftly, his thick, meaty arm snaking out to grab her, wrapping it tightly around her upper body and pulling her roughly toward him, as out of nowhere with the other hand he suddenly produced a long bladed knife and held the sharp steel edge to the column of her throat.

"Go ahead lady, make my day!" Frank roared into her ear as the terrified Bridget suddenly realized what was happening and stopped struggling to free herself, realizing that this time he meant business and was not about to back down.

"You killed him!" she wailed, wide, terror filled eyes seeking out the still body of Buddy slumped against the fire place, praying that she was wrong and that any minute now he would leap to his feet and come to her rescue.

"You killed him!" she sobbed, realizing that he still wasn't moving and that it was quite possible that Buddy really was dead, another blow to his head succeeding where the first had failed.

If he wasn't dead, he was certainly out cold, and she knew that that meant that he wasn't going to be any help to her.

However, maybe she could still help him.

If she could make Frank believe that Buddy really was dead then maybe he would forget about going over there and making it a reality, and if Buddy was only unconscious, when he came too, maybe he would be well enough to try to go and get help himself.

"He's not breathing," she sobbed raggedly, bucking and squirming against Frank hoping to keep his attention fixed firmly on her and not on Buddy, unsure if it was as hard for him to tell from this distance if the slighter man was breathing or not or if it was just her damned poor eyesight. "You killed him! You murderer! You killed my husband!"

"If you don't shut up and keep still, I'll kill you too, lady!" Frank snarled a warning, tightening his hold around her chest, squeezing the air out of her lungs so that she was forced to stop struggling again and holding the blade so close to her skin now it felt like it was burning her flesh.

"Where's the kid?" he demanded, his eyes darting around the living area and not seeing the boy anywhere.

"He's probably half way down the mountain by now," Bridget lied, knowing that even as fleet of foot as Kenny was, with the time he'd had he'd be lucky to have gotten as far as the fire road.

"He'd better not be, for your sake," Frank warned, using his free hand to twist Bridget's arm up behind her back, sending excruciating pain shooting up through her arm and shoulder, neck and spine.

"Now move!" he screamed into her ear, using his body weight to make her walk forward, however she was so terrified she suddenly could not move.

"Do as you're told lady," he hissed close to her ear. "Don't give me an excuse to kill you too," he pressed the stiletto blade deeper against her throat and Bridget swallowed convulsively, feeling the blade move up and down against her flesh, as she did so and she forced her feet to move.

"You better hope that we find the kid before he opens his fat mouth, lady, or your precious husband's life won't be the only one you'll have on your conscience! Now move it!"


	25. Chapter 25

**_Chapter Twenty Four._**

_**Weaver, Washington State,**_

_**Zee McVey's General Store.**_

"Morning ma'am, you're keen," Zee McVey greeted Megan Ravenson with a wide, warm smile, disturbing the tiny brass bell over the lintel as he opened the door to his first customer at precisely seven am.

"Your friends not with you this morning?" he asked casually, allowing his gaze to wander up and down the street beyond his storefront looking for the rental car that he had seen Dominic Santini and his two female companions drive away in the previous evening.

"Ah, no," Megan responded warily.

"How did you get here, Ma'am?" McVey frowned now, moving aside to allow her to step inside the store at last then closing the door behind her.

"I walked," she explained with a soft sigh. "Besides, our camp isn't too far out of town. I enjoyed stretching my legs after spending most of the day yesterday in the car."

"So, did you guys forget something?" Zee was nodding in understanding as he asked the question.

Ever the store keeper, she supposed that he probably remembered every item that they had purchased when they were here last night and that he was thinking that she was here looking for something to pad out those meager supplies.

"No, actually, Mr McVey," Megan grew coy and bashful, dropping her eyes briefly unsure exactly what to say to the man without again raising his suspicions, or making him think that she was a raving lunatic, then raised her eyes to regard McVey steadily.

"Call me Zee," he coaxed, looking back at her with big, soft brown eyes filled with curiosity, head tilted birdlike to one side as he watched her.

"Ok, Zee. I was hoping that you might be able to help me," Megan gave him a genuine smile now.

"I'll do my best. As you can see, we have quite a good selection of provisions, but if you're looking for something in particular …."

"I am, but not here in your store. Zee, I need some information and I was hoping that you would know. I can't explain to you how or why, but it could be very important."

"Does it have anything to do with your friend Hawke?" McVey asked, growing serious as he recalled practically the same words coming from her friend, Mr. Santini's mouth the previous evening and what he had learned once the older man had decided to open up and just say what was on his mind.

"Yes, Zee. It does."

"Then ask away. Ya know, I still can't raise Charlie on the radio. Gettin' kinda worried about him and the old timer. I don't know exactly where on the mountain Jack lives, else I would have taken me a ride up there just to make sure they're both ok …." his voice trailed away as he realized that he was waffling and that it probably wasn't what this pretty lady standing before him with a pleasantly tolerant expression on her face wanted to hear.

"I'm sorry."

"No, it's all right. Really," Megan assured with a smile. "I'm sure that Hawke would be grateful to know that you are looking out for his friend. I hope it turns out that Mr Roth is ok."

"Thanks. Now, how can I help you?"

"Do you know if there has been a fire some place close to here?"

Suddenly, the look on Zee McVey's face told Meg that her instincts had been corrected and that he was the man to speak to.

"How in the hell do you know about that?" he gaped at her in utter astonishment.

"It's kind of hard to explain," Megan sighed and saw a flicker of understanding in the big man's eyes.

"You got one of _**them**_ feelings too, huh?" he was regarding her warily now. "You got that EPS thing?" he seemed genuinely curious now.

"Actually, it's ESP, but I like the way you put it better. And yes, it was one of _**those**_ feelings that brought me here to you this morning, Zee," Megan smiled softly at him now. "Let's just leave it at that, can we?"

"Sure," McVey smiled knowingly, not wanting to embarrass her by making her explain something she obviously felt uncomfortable about.

He was an open minded sort of guy, having seen more than his fair share of things that other people would consider weird over the years, and although he wasn't quite a believer himself, he would never ridicule anyone who believed that they had the gift themselves

"The fire?" Megan prompted when he continued to grin at her in silence.

"Oh, yeah," he grew serious again now. "The Goodwin place. About fifty miles north of here. George Goodwin, the owner, he died in a fire week before last."

"Did he keep horses?"

"Sure did," he again reacted with surprise then nodded in understanding and acceptance.

"Lost the last of his stock in the blaze," McVey grew serious and thoughtful now, an odd expression swiftly crossing his face as he turned his back and began to walk away from her quickly, heading back toward the counter at the other end of the store.

Megan followed him, curious at his reaction, and sensing that he had something important that he wanted to show her.

"Zee?"

"George was a good friend, ma'am,"

"Megan," she corrected him gently.

"Megan," he relaxed a little and gave her a weak smile now. "I'd know'd him since we were kids, him and his sister, Midge," the big man explained in a sorrowful voice, reaching up to a shelf behind the counter to pull down a small intricately carved wooden statue of a rearing horse, hooves beating the air in front of it, as it balanced on it's back legs. He handled the piece carefully, with reverence, Megan noted, as he handed the statuette to her. "He did good work."

"He carved this?" Megan held the beautifully crafted piece carefully, silently agreeing that it was indeed fine work, the artist having captured the fluid grace and movement of the animal.

However she was already getting strong vibrations from it, seeing flashes of the same vision of the fire that she had had the previous evening and so she set it down quickly before she saw anything too disturbing, not wanting to have to explain herself to McVey, placing it back on the counter carefully as she suddenly picked up on something else the man had said.

"Did you say Midge?"

"Yeah. George's sister," McVey explained, curious to know why she had set the carving down so quickly, almost as though it had burned her fingers, however he kept his thoughts to himself.

"Of course that ain't her real name. She's really Bridget, but even though she's a bit older than me and George, she was always a lot smaller than the rest of us kids, real cute little thing, feisty too. Started out as kind of a family thing, because when he was real small George couldn't pronounce her given name, and then at school the rest of us kids heard it and latched on to it and kinda ragged on her a bit, and she got the nick name Bridget the Midget."

"Boy, did she hate that, always ready to throw a punch if anyone dared to say it in her presence and always had some witty come back like 'all good things come in small packages', and 'you don't see diamonds as big as bricks,'" he grinned as he recalled the memory.

"We soon learned that while she might be small, she sure could bite! She was always more daring than the rest of us put together, probably because she thought that she had to prove herself. Over the years it kinda got shortened to Midge," he explained, frowning as he found himself wondering why he had just told a complete stranger all of that, and why that stranger was standing there, nodding in understanding and grinning triumphantly at him.

"Can you take me there?"

"The Goodwin place? Sure," Megan continued to smile encouragingly at him, and he suddenly understood. "You mean right now? But what about the store?"

"Trade really all that good on a Sunday?" Megan arched an eyebrow curiously although she doubted it very much.

"Not really, but someone's bound to be mad if they find the place shut up and they need something to finish off their roast lunch," he grumbled.

"I think Hawke could be close to the Goodwin place, Zee," Megan explained patiently. "My friends are already out there looking for him, but I just had this feeling, Zee, and not a good feeling, if you know what I mean," she paused to draw in a quick breath.

"I think Hawke is at the Goodwin place, and those two men the police are looking for, the ones who robbed the liquor store further down the mountain, I think they're there too."

"You think they're holding him hostage?" his eyebrows shot up, disappearing into his hairline as he stared at her in open mouthed astonishment.

"Maybe."

"And you want me to take you up there?" he asked her in incredulous tones as though unable to conceive of a reason why she would want to go marching into trouble, when most sane folks would stay well away, call the cops and barricade themselves into their homes.

"Yes, Zee, I need you to take me up there. Look," Megan emitted a soft little sigh. "Hawke's a good man, a good friend, and I'm afraid for him, Zee. I was kinda hoping that maybe you and a few of your friends might realize the seriousness of the situation and be willing to help us look for Hawke."

McVey grew thoughtful for a moment and Meg was about to try to use her powers of persuasion on him once more, when he grew very serious, a hard expression settling on his face as something flashed through his eyes, and then he suddenly reached out to grip the counter with white tipped fingers as though suddenly very dizzy and afraid that his legs would no longer support his weight.

"Zee, are you ok?" Megan asked with genuine concern, then suddenly realized the direction his thoughts were taking as he turned anxious, fearful brown eyes on her.

"Midge is up there. At the Goodwin place. With Kenny," he told her in a low, breathy voice and she could see the genuine concern etched into his face now.

"Kenny?"

"George's son. Her nephew," Zee explained and Megan could clearly see the anxiety in his eyes, and she did not need to be psychic to know that the big man obviously had feelings for this woman, Bridget, or Midge as she was known, and that he thought of her as more than just the sister of his friend.

"I saw her, at the funeral the other day, when I was payin' my respects. She told me that she planned to stay at the homestead, tidying everything up, until today, and then she would be taking Kenny back home with her so that she could get him ready for school tomorrow. He's been home schooled up to now, so it's gonna be something of a surprise to the kid," he explained giving her a weak smile. "And he's got some real catching up to do. That's why he's going to summer classes, and Midge thought it would kinda ease him into it, ready for when proper school starts up again."

As Megan watched his face closely, finding his smile most charming, suddenly she saw his expression change to one of shock and horror, his chocolate brown eyes growing wide as his mouth dropped open and she could see that he had finally begun to comprehend the seriousness of the situation.

"Oh man! We gotta get up there! Midge and the boy could be in grave danger!"

"Amen to that," Megan spoke in a whisper as she realized the true depth of feelings that Zee McVey had for this woman, Midge, and she knew that that more than anything had influenced his suddenly change of heart and his decision to help her. "Thank you, Zee."

"I'll get on the radio straight away, round up the guys, and I'll be sure to call the Sheriff's office in Honesty and give Abe Buchanan a heads up too. He'll have his guys out there in no time!"

"Zee, while you're on the radio, give my friend Dominic Santini a call and let him know where the Goodwin place is, then he and Cait can make their way there too."

"Sure thing. What's the frequency?" Zee asked as he half turned away from her, pulling open the door to the adjoining living quarters at the back of the store, assuming that Santini and the other girl he had been with had some kind of CB radio in their car. Megan saw the questioning look in his eyes and decided not to disabuse him of the notion for it suited her to have him believe that she had walked here because Caitlin and Dominic were out searching for Hawke in the rental car they had all arrived in yesterday. He would find out soon enough that they had other means of transport at their disposal, and she wasn't going to be the one to let the cat out of the bag, because Dominic would no doubt have a blue fit.

"Any. They'll hear you," he turned back to regard Megan curiously. "Believe me, Zee. They're just waiting for your call, and they've got really good equipment," Megan grinned reassuringly back at him. "Just keep trying, Zee. They'll hear you, you can be sure of that!"

0-0-0-0

_**Meanwhile, back in Airwolf's cockpit:**_

"Oh God, Dom," Caitlin O'Shannessy let out a startled gasp as she watched the screen before her refocus on the weaving skid marks in the road, clear evidence of someone having tried to control their vehicle, and then the gap in the crash barrier on the winding ribbon of mountain highway, further evidence that that person had lost the battle.

Her heart skipped a beat in her chest as Santini nosed Airwolf closer to the hole in the barrier and the wide path of broken tree limbs and crushed vegetation, plunging almost vertically down the mountainside, and she found herself wondering how on earth anyone could have survived a tumble like that.

"She was right, Dom. Megan was right. This must be the place Hawke's Jeep went off the road," her voice quivered as she fought back her emotions.

"Easy Cait," Santini advised, trying to keep a steady hand on Airwolf's controls as he too began to suddenly wonder if they were on a wild goose chase, because their friend must surely have broken his neck when he and the Jeep parted company after launching off the highway.

At that moment, one of the sensors to Cait's right began to beep and she automatically adjusted the view on her monitor to see a graph depicting peaks and troughs, the sensor's output plotted in a fashion that she could easily identify.

"I've got something on ground radar, Dom," she advised, reigning in her terror as she read the information on her screen.

"Hawke?" Santini asked, a note of trepidation in his voice now too, bracing himself for the horror he was sure they would find.

"No, looks like a whole bunch of metal and glass and rubber."

"The Jeep," Santini sighed heavily in relief and pulled back on the cyclic to gain altitude once more, inching Airwolf away from the hole in the crash barrier and maintaining the same altitude, followed the path of broken vegetation down the mountainside waiting for Caitlin to give him confirmation of the location of the wreckage of Stringfellow Hawke's rented Jeep.

"There it is," Santini intoned, settling Airwolf into a hover over the spot more than half way down the mountainside, and heard Caitlin let out a startled gasp as she flicked back the setting on her monitor so that it was once again presenting her with a picture being broadcast by the externally mounted camera.

"My God …."

"I know it looks bad, Cait," Santini rolled his eyes heavenward as he spoke, knowing that that must be the understatement of the decade, his eyes focusing on the wreck of the vehicle, front imploded after coming to an abrupt halt in a head on collision with an old tree stump and propped up on a huge bolder, the front axle twisted and bent out of shape, the engine well crumpled like tissue paper almost as far as the driver's seat, one rear wheel off the ground and the windshield completely devoid of glass.

"But remember what Megan said? She said she didn't think that Hawke had made it very far from the Jeep," he reminded, although in his heart he could not see how Hawke could have made it period, if he and the Jeep had made it to this point together, and if he had somehow managed to get out of the vehicle before it met it's abrupt end, the surrounding terrain would offer him few safe options for escape.

"You getting anything on the thermal scanner?"

"No," Caitlin responded abruptly. "At least nothing big enough to be Hawke."

"Just more cute furry things," Santini sighed. "I guess we'd better go check all the way down to the bottom of the mountain."

"Hey, wait a minute, Dom. I'm getting something on the radio!" Caitlin was excited now. "It's Zee McVey!" she exclaimed jubilantly.

"What's he say?"

"Hold on a minute and I'll patch you through," Caitlin giggled nervously into his ear now, obviously relieved to have something else to distract her from the dreadful thought that this was the place where Stringfellow Hawke had met his end, and then a few seconds later a decidedly male voice was filling Santini's helmet.

"Mr. Santini, if you can hear me, I've got Ms Ravenson with me. She explained everything to me and I've organized a search party. We'll be leaving shortly and we'll try to get there as quickly as we can. I called the Sheriff over there in Honesty and he's rounding up a posse, as we speak, to join the search from the north."

McVey paused and in the background, Santini could hear Megan Ravenson's soft voice, no doubt reminding the man that he needed to tell Dominic Santini where to move his search to.

"Thanks Zee, I'm obliged to ya. Tell Megan we found the place where she thought Hawke's Jeep went off the road, and it looks like she was right."

"Damn. I'm sorry to hear that, Mr. Santini, truly I am. I sure hope Hawke's ok."

"Me too, pal."

"Can you give me your current position, Mr. Santini?" Santini opened his mouth to give the man their present co-ordinates but was beaten to the punch by Caitlin O'Shannessy's dulcet tones.

"That's great, you're so close," Zee McVey could not contain his excitement. "The Goodwin place is about two miles south and east of your position," he then went on to give Caitlin O'Shannessy a map reference.

"The Goodwin place?" Santini asked after a few moments of silence.

"Yes, that's the place where they had the fire, Dom!" Dominic Santini was suddenly greeted by Megan Ravenson's excited voice.

"Look out for the burned out ruins of a stable and barn. There's a homestead too, some kind of cabin," she went on to explain, then paused for a moment to take a breath and Santini could hear Zee McVey's voice in the background now.

"That's the Goodwin place," Megan added more calmly now. "You should know that Zee thinks that there is a woman and a child still living there, Dom. They could be in danger from the fugitives too."

"Roger that, Megan," Santini acknowledged. "What exactly did McVey mean when he said you told him everything?" his tone was edged with suspicion now.

"Only what he needed to know," she assured. "Relax Dom, I told him that I thought Hawke was close to some place where they had had a fire and that the fugitives might be there too," Megan clarified for him, her tone edged with just a little impatience and disappointment that he could even think that she might be indiscreet about the existence of Airwolf, even if there was a chance that the man was going to be seeing her for himself pretty soon.

"I gotta go now, Dom. The last of the guys just turned up here and Zee's chomping at the bit to get going. Be careful."

"You too, Megan. See you'all there."

"We'll try to get there before any trouble starts," but he could tell from her tone of voice that she doubted it, and in truth, he suspected that she was right, after all, she was fifty miles away and Airwolf was only a couple of miles shy of the Goodwin place.

Still, she had done her part in confirming the location of the fire and persuading McVey to help her. If it was all over bar the shouting by the time they got there, Santini doubted that Megan would complain, she would just be glad that Hawke was safe and sound, and if he was honest, he was glad that she wouldn't be in the line of fire if things did start to get a little hairy down there.

"We'll get things under control and keep them contained until you or the cops arrive, then we're out of here. If String has lost his memory, I want to get him to a doctor, ASAP. I'm sorry Meg, but you'll be on your own for a while. Once Hawke is safe one of us will come back for you."

"Copy that, Dom. I understand. Good luck, and give String my regards when you see him."

"Roger that. Santini out."


	26. Chapter 26

**_Chapter Twenty Five._**

_**The Goodwin Place, **_

_**Washington State,**_

From his hiding place in the burned out ruins of the stable, Kenny Goodwin watched in terror as the man Frank, marched his Aunt Midge out of the cabin into the growing light of the new day, roughly pushing her ahead of him one minute then grabbing her and roughly twisting around to make sure that no-one was following them, then dragging her along behind him the next when she seemed to freeze, or stumble, or dig in her heels, trying to slow the big man down.

Kenny watched as they followed the path around the outside of the building which opened out wide enough for a vehicle, and which was the end of the track that lead to the lower paddock and the fire road beyond, one of his big, thickset arms wrapped around his Aunt's upper body and the other hand holding something shiny against her throat.

His tiny heart was almost bursting out of his chest and he was afraid that he was going to pee himself he was so scared, but he held his nerve, flattening his tiny body against the charred and smoke blackened timbers, trying to ignore the vile smell that conjured up vivid memories of the barn in flames and the certain knowledge that his father was still inside with the horses, telling himself that he couldn't afford to be scared and that he had to stay quiet and let the man and his Aunt believe that he had gotten away, and then he planned to take one of the steeper trails and try to get to the farm down in the valley so that he could raise the alarm.

But first, he wanted to go back to the cabin to find out what had happened to the stranger he and his Aunt had taken in, the man they had named Buddy.

At first he had been relieved not to see Frank hauling Buddy along behind him and his Aunt, but now that he stopped and thought about it, Kenny found himself fearing the worst, that Buddy was dead and would no longer be able to help him.

However, he needed to see for himself, just as he had needed to see his father's body for himself, but Aunt Midge had explained that it was too badly burned and that it would be better for him if he did not see his father like that, that that should not be his last memory of him, and that he should remember him in happier times.

There was another reason why Kenny needed to see for him self. Just in case Buddy wasn't dead after all, only hurt, and that he might yet be able to help him.

When he could no longer hear Frank bullying Midge and the sound of their heavy footsteps trudging along the track, Kenny made him self wait for another five minutes, another idea occurring to him as he stood there, grinning to himself, hardly daring to breathe in case he gave himself away, before he darted out from his hiding place and ran to the cabin.

Inside the doorway he immediately found the shattered remains of one of the dining chairs and the broken shotgun lying on the floor, and a ghost of a smile touched his lips as he recalled the sight of his diminutive Aunt picking up the weapon and swinging wildly with, using it as a club, bashing Frank on the head and back, the last thing he had witnessed before sprinting away from the cabin and hiding in the burned out stable.

Everything was still and silent now and there was no sign of Buddy.

The boy walked cautiously deeper into the room, swallowing down hard as he prepared himself for what he might find, his right foot suddenly coming into contact with something solid, sending it skittering across the ground, spinning round and around until it finally came to a stop and Kenny could see that it was the hand gun that the man Jesse had carried, and he realized that during the struggle with Buddy, it must have fallen from the waistband of Frank's pants.

As he strode forward, moving around the couch so that he could pick the gun up, Kenny saw Buddy lying on the floor beside the fire place, blood trickling from a wound on the back of his head, dripping down the column of his throat and darkening the collar of his pajama shirt.

The child let out a startled gasp and ignoring the gun hurried the short distance to where Buddy lay, motionless, and dropping down to his knees beside the man, feeling tears welling up in his eyes, the child reached out and prodded Buddy none too gently in the shoulder, only to pull back in shock when his effort was rewarded with a long, deep, low groan.

Realizing that the man was indeed still alive, unable to contain his joy, the child threw himself at Buddy, clinging on to him tightly as he buried his face in the man's chest his scalding tears soaking through the thin material of Buddy's shirt.

"Wake up mister, wake up! You gotta wake up, Buddy! He's got Midge. I need your help. He's taken Midge!" Kenny sobbed brokenly, his tiny hands clutching fistfuls of material as he implored Buddy to wake. "C'mon! Please!"

Suddenly, Kenny felt something move against his hair, and realized that it was Buddy's hand gently cradling the back of his head.

"Easy kid. You're gonna drown me," Buddy spoke in a low, groggy voice and Kenny quickly pulled away from him to gaze adoring down into his pale, drawn face and open, if somewhat unfocused piercing blue eyes.

"You're alive!" the boy grinned in relief.

"Seems so," Buddy emitted another low groan of pain and gingerly raised his other hand to gently rub along his jaw, then moved it to the sore spot on the back of his head.

_**Oh boy,**__** I'll never complain about having a thick skull again!**_

"Where's Bridget?" he suddenly asked, his eyes roaming around the living room but he could see no sign of his rescuer, or the intruder, Frank.

"He took her," Kenny explained quickly, with a gulp. "They think I got away but really I hid in the barn," he hurried on. "And then I came back to see if you were ok."

"Thanks, but you should have just kept running," Buddy reminded.

"I know. I remembered what you said, but then I had a better idea," the child explained in a more belligerent tone of voice as though upset by the idea that the adults were the only ones who thought that they could come up with a plan to save them.

"I know where Midge left her truck," Kenny declared, pinning Buddy with bright blue eyes that were dancing with excitement and defiance now. "And I thought that if you were ok, maybe you'd know how to drive it."

"Bridget has a truck?" Buddy responded with curiosity now.

"Sure. How do you think she got here?" Kenny rolled his eyes heavenward for a moment and let out a deep sigh, as though he could not believe how dumb Buddy was. "She left it in the lower paddock."

"And what would you have done if I wasn't ok?" Buddy quirked an eyebrow now, curious to know just how smart the kid really was, and how far he had been willing to go to help his Aunt.

"I was gonna drive it myself," Kenny declared brazenly. "I know I'm just a kid, but I seen my Daddy and Aunt Midge driving loads of times!" his young face grew very serious and the look he gave to Buddy clearly said that if his Aunt could do it, a mere girl, then how hard could it be?

Buddy let out a soft sigh and dry washed his face with his hand, smothering the smile that was twitching on his lips, eyes full of admiration for the child's gumption if nothing else.

"That's ok, sport," he again ruffled the boy's hair. "I think I can manage, but you'll have to tell me where to drive to."

"We could go to Honesty and get the cops," Kenny grinned.

"Then what are we waiting for? Did you see which way they went?"

"They went down the track," Kenny told him softly, growing serious once more. "Buddy, I think he had a knife to her throat," he told the man in a small, anxious voice, swallowing down hard, then quickly pulled him self together.

"It's the only way to get to the main highway and it goes past the lower paddock, but you can't see Midge's truck from the track, so they'll probably keep going until they get to the road."

Buddy nodded carefully, mindful of his sore head, wondering where Frank had gotten a knife from, and, if he had had it with him all along, why hadn't he used it before.

He sat there for a moment, silently thinking things through, figuring that no matter how terrified she was, Bridget would probably make sure that she kept Frank well away from the truck's location because she would be very much aware that once they were in a vehicle and on the move, rescue would be almost impossible.

He tried to sit up but even as he moved pain shot through his head and his upper body and robbed him of breath, briefly, bringing tears to his eyes and gasping breathlessly he sank back down and closed his eyes.

_**Oh man!**_

_**Here we go again!**_

As he waited for the pain to subside, he made himself breathe slowly and deeply and suddenly realized that this time, something was different, as fresh images of familiar faces flashed before his eyes.

This time he recognized those faces and could put names to them.

He knew who he was now, even if he wasn't quite sure where he was or how he had gotten here.

His name was Stringfellow Hawke.

He was a pilot and he came from California.

He had a cabin, not dissimilar to this one, filled with precious original artwork, up at Eagle Lake, where he spent time with his dog, an old blue tick hound called Tet, fishing for trout and serenading an eagle with his precious Stradivarius cello.

_**Welcome back!**_

As the realization began to sink in, a smile began to spread across his handsome features and he opened his eyes at last to find Kenny regarding him curiously, the child obviously fearing that the bang on his head had made him go mad.

"Buddy?"

"It's ok, pal," he assured gently. "I know who I am now," he gave the boy a soft smile. "My name is Stringfellow Hawke," he raised his right hand cautiously and offered it to the child. "But you can call me String. I'm real pleased to meet you, Kenny."

"You got your memory back?"

"Yeah, I think so," Hawke grinned back at him. "It's gonna be ok," he assured the boy, reaching out to the child and pulling him close for a reassuring hug then set him away from him, only to ruffle his already untidy hair once more.

Suddenly the image of another face swam before his mind's eye, the blond woman he had seen that first night out there on the mountain, and this time he recognized her and knew her name.

_**Megan Ravenson. **_

As he recalled her name, and remembered the unique gift that she possessed, Stringfellow Hawke was suddenly convinced that somehow, Megan had sensed that something had happened to him and that she would have gone to Dominic and Caitlin to raise the alarm and that there was every likelihood that they were out there now looking for him.

This immediately lifted his spirits.

Theirs had been an uneasy association, mainly because of his animosity and negativity, but he had come away from that impressed by her genuine ability, then, he suddenly recalled that the last time that he had seen her, several months ago, Megan had surprised him by telling him that he too possessed a gift and that he should not stop trusting in his gut and that he should not stop seeking his brother, Sinjin.

Was it possible that she had been right?

Did he really have a gift too, and had he somehow used that gift to subconsciously reach out to Megan while he had been unconscious out on the mountainside?

All his life he had somehow always known when trouble or danger was looming, some inborn instinct that he was aware that he had and that Sinjin did not, a sense of foreboding and an awareness that something was out of balance with the world around him, and that he also had very sensitive, almost supernatural hearing.

He had never thought to give it a name, and he had certainly never questioned it, coming to rely on it because it had never failed him, and had kept him alive in many situations when he might not have otherwise have been expected to survive.

He had once told Gabrielle, in what seemed like an eternity ago now, that he never feared that he would not make it back from some dangerous mission. He had told her that that was the thing, he always did make it back, even when the odds seemed stacked against him.

Back then, that Stringfellow Hawke had considered it a curse, a damnation from God, made to continue to live his pitiful existence as some kind of penance, to out live those people that he cared about, but now, as he grew older and tasted more of life, the man that he was today was beginning to see if for what it really was.

A gift.

The man that he was today also understood that his perception had changed because he too had changed. He had allowed himself to be more open to life and had started to live life a little more, experiencing the highs as well as the lows, and he knew that now more than ever before, as well as having so much more to lose, he also had something worth living for.

_**Caitlin.**_

_**Oh crumbs!**_

She was probably beside herself with worry over him, and that would mean only one thing. He would undoubtedly be on the receiving end of her tongue, once she got over the relief of seeing him again, alive and almost in one piece.

_**Caitlin.**_

_**Sweet, sassy, fiery, beautiful, loving, sensitive and amazingly brave, patient and tolerant. **_

_**Caitlin O'Shannessy, the woman that he loved.**_

_**Oh yes.**_

_**The woman that he loved, and had for some time now.**_

He could no longer deny it to himself, and he suddenly realized that he did not want to deny it any longer.

He loved her, and, he knew that she loved him too, for it was evident in her every thought and deed, whether she was aware of it or not, she could not hide it, and he knew that he could no longer keep pretending that he could not see it.

He didn't want to turn a blind eye any longer.

_**What was the point?**_

He realized now, that he wanted to reach out and embrace Caitlin's love, welcome her into his arms and his heart, and once again taste that heady, and heart lifting sensation of being in love and being loved in return.

It was time to set aside this silly, immature notion that his love was a poison chalice and meant imminent death to any woman who drank from it.

Caitlin had been loving him almost from the first moment that they had met, and he had loved her for almost as long, even though he had tried to hide it, not offering her any encouragement because he feared that to allow himself to care would mean that he could not work with her and that inevitably, history would repeat its self and she would be taken away from him, but, she was still alive.

She had been at his side, risking her own neck, more than once, to save his, and she was still alive.

He had to accept that she was just as capable of getting herself into trouble as he was, and she was also as capable of taking care of herself as he was.

She was a survivor.

Life with her around would never be boring, for she was more than a match for him intellectually too, and she knew him, really knew him, better than many of the other women he had cared for, because she had seen a side to him that the others had not.

And still she loved him.

Despite everything, having seen the best and the worst of him, still she loved him, and not knowing how he really felt about her, hurt her, more and more every day, he silently acknowledged.

_**Why had he really been holding back all this time?**_

_**What was he really afraid of?**_

_**Losing Caitlin, or committing himself to someone again making him vulnerable to grief and heartache once more?**_

_**Yet, wasn't he already committed to her? As a friend and a guardian?**_

_**Yes, but he had known for a long time that it was so much more than that.**_

He had even gone so far as to declare her to be part of his family, but even then he had known, deep down in his heart, that he did not think of her as a sister.

It was time to be honest, especially with him self, he conceded silently now.

Whilst he had no idea what the future might hold, or if in the immediate future it would make any difference to their relationship, he knew that Caitlin deserved to know the truth, and then she might be prepared to wait for him, to wait for the craziness of his life to be over and the issues from his past that held him back in so many things to be resolved.

One thing was for sure. He couldn't allow the present situation to go on any longer, for he knew that in doing so there was a very real danger that Caitlin would lose hope and throw in the towel, and he knew that he did not want to risk losing her, and not simply because she was a valued member of Airwolf's crew.

Somehow, she had gotten under his skin and worked her way, slowly, silently, subtly and deliberately, into his stone cold heart, filling it once again with light and joy and peace and hope.

He loved her, and even though he suspected that it was probably the worst kept secret in his life, she deserved to hear it from his lips, so that she knew for certain and did not have to keep living with the uncertainty and the fear that she had lost her heart to a man who did not possess one.

He loved her and he needed her, and she needed to know that, and now, finally, he was ready to show her his true feelings for her.

He was such a fool. To have wasted so much time, because if this little adventure had shown him anything, it was that all life was fragile, and could be cut short abruptly, even his own, after all, he really could have broken his neck out there on the mountain and then he would never have had a chance to express his true feelings to Caitlin and she would have had to go on living, never knowing the difference that she had made to his life and the joy she had brought back into his heart.

Life was too short, and he meant to make the most of every day from this point on, no matter how it turned out.

Surely it was better to have a small measure of love and happiness and peace in his life, than to deny himself those things forever because he feared that things might end tragically and painfully, wasn't it?

People died, all the time, denying it and fearing it didn't change that fact, so instead of shutting people out of his life because he was scared to love them and lose them, he should welcome them and let them in, allow them to enhance his life and enrich him as a human being, value them and appreciate them for so long as they were around, because only then could he say that he was truly living, and not simply existing, and in doing so, also honor his parents and all the other people that he had loved and lost along the way, and give their lives meaning too.

Now, as his eyes sought and found the bracelet still adorning his wrist, and he read the familiar inscription there, Stringfellow Hawke's gut was telling him with absolute certainty that his friends, Dom and Cait, and maybe even Megan Ravenson herself, were indeed out there right now, searching for him, and relief flooded through him, although he knew that his troubles weren't over just yet.

And neither were Bridget Goodwin's.

"Can you help me up?" he returned his attention to the boy who nodded and immediately reached out and began to yank on his arm.

However the world was still too unstable, his vision blurred, his legs weak and shaky and the pain in his head was making him very dizzy and nauseous, so much so that Stringfellow Hawke had to stop the child, knowing that he needed more time to recover.

"I'm sorry kid," he gave the boy an apologetic smile now. "Maybe you could go get the keys to Midge's truck while I get my breath back?"

"Sure," the child responded by moving swiftly away from Hawke and darting up the stairs, returning a few minutes later with a set of car keys attached to a white rabbits foot key ring, and Hawke could not help wondering how Frank had overlooked them when he had been searching upstairs for something valuable to steal, but was grateful that he had nevertheless.

"Midge is always losing her keys, putting them down and forgetting where she left them," Kenny explained breathlessly as he dropped to his knees before Hawke, his eyes bright with excitement as he smiled shyly.

"Only this time she didn't really lose them," he grew bashful for a moment, dropping his eyes and fixing them on the gently twirling keys dangling from the ring clutched in his hand.

"I took them," he confessed, raising his eyes to regard Hawke, a guilty look settling on his face, but there was still a hint of defiance in his eyes. "I stashed them in my hidey hole under the floorboards in the attic," he hurried on now. "'Cos I thought if she couldn't find her keys, then she wouldn't be able to drive us to her house and I wouldn't have to go to school."

As he tried to think of something stern and paternal to say to the boy, about how wrong it had been to take Midge's keys like that, Hawke found that he could not help admiring the kid's logic and his guts.

He got the impression from the way that the kid was wrinkling his nose that school was something new to the boy, recalling that Midge had told him that his father had just died and that they had not planned to stay here at the cabin after the weekend.

Thinking it over, Hawke realized that fear of that unknown, his new life with his Aunt in a new home and perhaps going to school for the first time in his young life, had been the driving force behind that piece of mischief.

Hawke understood the impact of such changes. He had been through something similar himself, but he had had the love and support of Sinjin and Dominic Santini to ease the transition into his new life.

Kenny wasn't alone either, he had his Aunt, but a lot would depend on how much the boy was willing to allow Bridget into his life.

Now, as he watched Kenny's face, he began to see that the boy had already started to reconsider his position about school, and that once news of this little adventure had gotten around and he was elevated to the status of hero, it would probably make it easier for the other kids to accept him into their ranks.

"School's not so bad you know, Kenny," Hawke regarded him with steady blue eyes. "It's a place to make new friends, and to learn about your self as well as the world and of course your ABC's. You're a smart kid. You'll figure it out," he smiled, figuring that the boy was probably going to summer classes so that he could catch up and be ready to start the new term with the rest of the kids his age when school started up again.

Bridget was a smart woman. Summer school would ease the kid gently into his new routine and by the time the new school year started it would be second nature to him, his confidence soaring and he would not feel quite so out of place and ill at ease.

"Kenny, if Frank can't find a car, is it possible that he might consider going over the mountains, on foot?" Hawke asked now, changing the subject and trying to put himself in Frank's position, working out his next move. "He might think it was quicker that way."

"He could, sure, but he'd be crazy to try it. You can't get to Canada that way anyway, even if it the mountains were passable, but with Aunt Midge tagging along …."

"Ok," Hawke sighed deeply, wincing as he felt the pain shooting through his ribs once more, wondering if he had done more damage while he had been wrestling with Frank. It certainly felt like it, but he also knew that he could not dwell on that right now. He had to get the child to safety and then try to find Frank and Midge.

"If he's making for the border, getting to a highway is his only real option, right, Kenny?"

"Yeah. Right, String," Kenny confirmed. "Is that really your name?"

"Yeah. It's really my name," Hawke gave the child a pained look now.

"Neat!"

The child's unexpected reaction suddenly made Stringfellow Hawke grin, but only for a moment and then he grew serious once more.

"Kenny, Midge would know about the mountain trail being too dangerous too, wouldn't she?"

"Sure. She knows. When she was a kid, one summer, some of her friends from school tried to climb to the top of Isolation Point, but the snow was still too deep and they caused an avalanche," he regarded Hawke with steady blue eyes filled with understanding now. "None of them came back."

Stringfellow Hawke found himself nodding, carefully, in understanding.

That would indeed have been one lesson that the young Bridget Goodwin would have learned well, and no matter how strong her survival instinct, he doubted that Bridget would be able to make herself forget the horror of losing her friends in such a fashion and force herself to take a route that she knew was treacherous.

"So is there any chance that she might try to misdirect Frank and persuade him to try going over the mountain? She might think that it would slow them down enough so that you could raise the alarm and that up there, once they get beyond the tree line they'd be easier to spot, especially from the air?"

"I guess, but I don't think even Aunt Midge is that dumb," Kenny gave Hawke an exasperated look. "She knows that it would be too dangerous. She'd stick to the highway. I'm sure of it."

"Ok, then I guess that makes things a little easier. If we could get to the cops and tell them what has happened, they'd be able to set up road blocks along the most likely routes Frank would use, and alert all border crossings."

Hawke paused, suddenly growing thoughtful as another idea popped into his head.

"But we might be able to catch up with them before they stop someone on the highway and commandeer a car," String was thinking out loud now, thinking ahead and trying to formulate a plan, but out of the corner of his eye he caught the child nodding enthusiastically, obviously delighted with the opportunity to extend his little adventure.

"Then I guess we'd better get moving," Hawke again tried to struggle into a sitting position, aware that Frank and Midge had a head start, but he would bet the farm on the fact that that feisty little lady would try to slow Frank down as much as she could in the hope of giving the child a chance to run to a neighboring farm to raise the alarm.

However, even as Kenny reached out to offer him a helping hand, Hawke felt the world tip and roll, the room spinning before his eyes, and again he had to fight back nausea and grit his teeth against the pain shooting through his head and chest, forcing himself to move beyond it until he was on his feet and upright at last.

The world was a very unsteady place, his legs rubbery, the floor rocking beneath his feet, but he was up and on his feet again for the first time in a couple of days and it felt good.

"You ok?" Kenny was gaping up into his suddenly very pale face with genuine concern, eyes wide and filled with fear and expectation, as he wobbled ungainly, supporting Hawke's weight, his thin arm draped around the unsteady man's waist.

"Yeah. I'm good," Hawke lied, giving the child a conspiratorial smile now. "Now you listen up, Kenny. I can't do this without your help, but if I tell you to run, then you run, ok? I mean it this time. I need to know that you can do as I ask, because your life, my life and your Aunt's life could depend on it. Ok?"

"Ok. I promise," the child pledged solemnly, bringing up his small right hand to lay it flat against the left side of his chest. "Cross my heart and hope …"

"Don't say it!" Hawke exclaimed. "Don't say it kid," he softened his tone now, aware that he was leaning heavily against the child as he reached out to cuff him gently around the chin. "Nobody's gonna die, do you hear me?"

"Yeah, String. I hear ya."

"Good. C'mon then pal, let's get out of here!"

As they set off, moving very slowly and carefully because String's legs were still very weak, trembling with the effort required to take every small step, again Kenny spotted the discarded handgun on the floor, just a few feet away, and while the man was forced to pause to get his breath back, panting heavily, fighting back nausea, as he reached out to grab the back of the couch for support, Kenny released his hold, briefly, bending down to pick up the weapon.

"Hey kid, be careful with that thing!" Stringfellow Hawke warned gruffly as the child straightened up and brought the gun closer toward him.

"It's not a toy, pal," String reminded as he very carefully took the gun from the boy's extended hand, checking first of all that the safety catch was on before checking the cylinder and the chamber.

As he had suspected, the firearm was empty, however, he still found himself emitting a soft sigh of relief, although at the same time he could not help thinking that it was a pity, because he could have done some real damage to Frank, even with only one solitary bullet at his disposal.

"Any use?" Kenny asked eagerly, but immediately knew the answer from the look on String's face.

"Nah. C'mon sport," Hawke encouraged, but instead of making straight for the cabin's door, he shuffled and stumbled, with Kenny's assistance, the short distance to the pine table and Jesse's still body.

As they came to a halt beside the table, Hawke reached out with his thick, tan fingers, seeking a pulse as they pressed against the man's neck, but Jesse's flesh was already cold and Hawke knew that the man was long gone.

"Is he …." Kenny asked shyly, but again he got his answer from the expression on String's face, as the man set the useless handgun down on the table beside Jesse's still hands.

"C'mon Kenny, let's blow this joint," Hawke sighed raggedly. "We'd better get a move on. Can't take the chance that Frank's luck improves and he and Midge come across a bunch of early risers and he tries to con those happy campers out of their car," Hawke drawled sarcastically, reaching out for Kenny once more.

However, as the boy steadied himself as String leaned his weight on his shoulder and he reached out to slip his arm around his new friend's waist, Kenny suddenly became aware of another strange expression on String's face as the man grew suddenly very still, not even breathing as he paused, and as he watched the man curiously, Kenny could not help thinking to himself that it looked as if String was listening to something very far away, although he could not hear anything himself.

Then, to Kenny's surprise and amazement, a smile began to form on String's lips, growing wider and wider, as he began to move a little faster toward the cabin door, a new purpose in his stride now.

"String?" Kenny regarded him curiously, tracking a thin trickle of sweat with his bright blue eyes, as it rolled down the side of String's face, evidence of just what each and every step was taking out of the man.

"It's ok, pal," String assured breathlessly, raising his free hand to swipe away the trickle of sweat as it tickled his cheek, but he was still grinning down at his young assistant as he did so. "I think the cavalry are comin'"

"Huh?"

"You'll see," Hawke chuckled softly. "Trust me?"

"Ok."

"Good. Lets get a move on. We need to get out of here, find some place open. Right now!"

"Sure thing, String."

"Good man!"


	27. Chapter 27

**_Chapter Twenty Six._**

_**Meanwhile, back in Airwolf's cockpit:**_

"There it is! Right where McVey said it would be, and would you look at that!" Dominic Santini felt his heart rate increase as he guided Airwolf to the exact co-ordinates that Zee McVey had given to Caitlin, maintaining altitude just above the tree tops.

He had quickly spotted the Goodwin place, a rough hewn, weathered ancient timber cabin, not unlike Stringfellow Hawke's at first glance and certainly better maintained than Charlie Roth's humble abode back there up at High Lake, and the outlying farm buildings, the burned out shell of a low roofed stable and the scorched remnants of the barn and several abandoned farm vehicles, a backyard and over grown kitchen garden which had probably once supplied the house with vegetables and herbs.

"I got two heat sources inside the cabin, Dom!" Caitlin advised excitedly. "Looks like one adult and one child," she informed him swiftly, then noted that the thermal images on her screen were moving very slowly toward the door. "Looks like they're coming out."

"Roger that," Santini responded, descending carefully, maneuvering Airwolf so that her nose was lined up with the cabin doorway, a couple of hundred feet away.

Even before he had a chance to ask, he heard the chain guns and cannons deploying from the wingtips and knew that Caitlin had read his mind.

As they sank into a steady hover, Dominic Santini was also aware of his thumb hovering over the firing nipple, his heart pounding rapidly in his chest and that his mouth was suddenly very dry.

In the next instant the cabin door was opening, and almost immediately two hunched figures emerged, shielding their eyes from the mini tornado being whipped up by Airwolf's main rotor, sending a maelstrom of dust and vegetation debris up into the air around them, forearms raised before them, protecting themselves from the onslaught.

Dominic Santini could just make out the figures of a child, a small boy, and the other appeared to be a man, but he could not get a clear view of the fellow's face for he was curling his body inward, over the child, his clothes, what looked to be a very fetching pair of thin pajamas, charcoal grey in color with a bright scarlet red cord to secure them at the waist and matching piping around collar and pocket and down both seams of the pants, flapping wildly in the windstorm being stirred up by Airwolf's main rotor and probably not giving him much in the way of protection right now.

"Cait?"

"I don't know! Can't get a clear picture of his face, Dom," she told him with a tremor of uncertainty in her voice.

He knew that she so desperately wanted it to be Stringfellow Hawke, and was frustrated that she could not see his face properly.

The man certainly had Hawke's physique, and coloring, but Dominic Santini wasn't about to get complacent and jump to any conclusions.

He wanted to see the man's face.

_**Was this one of their fugitives, holding the boy hostage, or was it the injured Hawke using the boy to support him?**_

Santini decided to pull Airwolf back, just a little, so that her downwash would not whip up quite so much debris and dust in the hope that he might be able to get a good look at the man's face, and better judge if the child was in danger from him, or if the boy was, in actual fact, helping the man.

As the wind began to drop, man and boy fully emerged into the crystal clear mountain morning light, the man dropping his hand from his face now and straightening up a little, although still leaning against the child, peering directly into the cockpit of Airwolf, straight into the eyes of Dominic Santini.

"Is that any way to greet a friend, Dom?"

Stringfellow Hawke's familiar deep, gruff tones drawled, sarcastically, suddenly filling Airwolf's cockpit, being picked up by the external audio sensing equipment, along with the racket from Airwolf's main rotor as it continued to rhythmically beat the air, and the eerie animalistic whine that was unique to her.

Instantly the sound of his voice was greeted by a loud whoop of joy from Caitlin O'Shannessy, almost deafening him, as, beneath the bandage adorning his head, Dominic Santini also recognized the face of his friend and let out a deep sigh of relief.

Suddenly, he realized what Hawke was talking about, alluding to the fact that he had the twin 30mm chain guns and 40mm cannon trained on him and the boy and he quickly swiveled his head around to look directly at Caitlin who was grinning from ear to ear despite the fact that her eyes were brimming with tears.

"When you're done celebratin', stow the guns, Cait,"

"I'm on it!"

"That's better."

Again Hawke's voice filled the cockpit.

"You call this a vacation?" Santini muttered sarcastically, although he was delighted to see the younger man. "Busman's holiday more like! How's the other guy look?"

"It's good to see you too, old friend," Hawke was having to shout to make himself heard over the drone and shriek of Airwolf's engines, and Santini could see the pain etched into his pale, drawn face even from this distance. "What the hell took you so long?" his face broke into a grin now.

"Is there some place I can set this crate down?" Santini spoke and heard his voice echoing outside through the PA system then broadcast back inside Airwolf by the external audio sensors.

"Sure thing, Dom. There's a paddock," Hawke paused for a moment, bowing his head to confer with the child and then he was looking right back at Santini and waving his hands, directing Santini away from his position, behind the cabin.

"We'll meet you there!" Hawke yelled.

"Like hell you will. You stay right where you are and we'll come back for you. You're in no condition …."

"I'm fine. Besides, there's no time, Dom. Some muscle bound lummox with a brain the size of a pea has taken the kid's Aunt hostage and he's getting away," Hawke protested, his body being buffeted by Airwolf's down wash once more and Dominic Santini realized that he had no choice but to find some place to land and wait for Hawke and the boy to meet up with them.

He also quickly picked up on another point.

Hawke had indicated that there was one man out there on the mountain creating mayhem, so what had happened to the other fugitive?

"String, what happened to the other fella? Radio news said there were two men on the run."

"He's inside. Dead," Hawke shouted breathlessly. "He bled out from a wound he had when he got here," he explained. "And his buddy is out there on the mountain with Bridget Goodwin, this little guy's Aunt. He's heading north, probably hoping to hitch a ride. He can't have gone far, but he's got to have heard Airwolf and probably thinks it's the cops looking for him. He's been threatening to hurt the lady since he arrived, and he's just mean enough to do it, so let's hustle!"

"Caitlin?" Santini called out, knowing that even though she was relieved and elated to see Hawke alive and in one piece, she would still be on the ball enough to know what he was asking of her and she would be checking out the vicinity for the landing site that Hawke had pointed out.

"Got it. It's approximately one kilometer south west of here," she told him without preamble, working the instruments around her. "It's a field, looks to be overgrown around the edges, and there's a vehicle already parked there, but there's still enough room for us to land safely, Dom," she added, fingers still busy on the keyboard before her, switching views on her monitor, again already aware of what Santini's next question was likely to be.

"Thermal scan is running, and we got us two people. Looks like they're on foot," she told him, a frown suddenly tugging at her brown under her helmet watching the screen before her and aware that something did not compute.

"Are they out in the open?" Santini quizzed, cutting her off when he heard a hint of surprise in her voice

"No. Looks like they're keeping to the trees. It's kinda weird though, Dom. I thought Hawke just said they were heading north?"

"Yeah. That would make sense. He's probably aiming to get to the border."

"So why are they're actually going south? They've turned south and are heading down the mountain, back toward Weaver, but the odd thing is they appear to be climbing," she told him in bemused tones because it did not make any sense to her.

"They probably want to keep out of sight and get to higher ground so they can see traffic coming well in advance and then they'll find some place to jump out on to the highway to flag the driver down," Santini mused.

"Or maybe he got disorientated and the lady ain't setting him straight, hoping to buy herself some time, or maybe she just too scared to say anything. I know it doesn't make sense to you, honey, but you have a brain considerably bigger than the size of a pea," Santini smirked to himself.

"Why thank you, Dom," Caitlin grinned back, accepting the back handed compliment, simply overwhelmed with relief to find Hawke at last, safe and well. "I think," she added as an after thought, a frown tugging at her brow.

"It probably makes perfect sense to him," Santini clarified for her, still smiling because he too was overjoyed to see his young friend looking in relatively good shape.

"Keep tracking them, Cait. In the mean time, let's get to our rendezvous and get String in here out of harm's way. We can figure it out once we've picked him and the kid up. Breathe in honey 'cos it's gonna be a tight squeeze back there!"

"Very funny, Dom. Cheek! Well now, we'll see if you're still smiling when he gets in here and wants to take your seat!"

Dominic Santini suspected that Caitlin was right, but under the circumstances, this time the young man was going to be disappointed, no matter how stroppy he got. If, as it seemed from the bandage he had wound around his head, Hawke had indeed sustained a head injury, he wasn't going to be in any condition to take the controls, so there was an end to it.

However, Santini remained silent as he guided Airwolf over the tree tops in the direction of their landing site, knowing as he did so that even when they had Hawke and the boy safely inside, they would still have work to do.

0-0-0-0

Even though he had never been more relieved to see and hear Airwolf, Stringfellow Hawke was, nevertheless, grateful when Dominic Santini lifted her nose, and gaining altitude slowly, guided the majestic helicopter toward where he had indicated there was a suitable landing site.

Clad only in the thin pajamas, no shoes on his feet, the down wash from Airwolf's rotors was chilling him to the bone and whipping the air up into such a frenzy it was even more difficult to breathe than it had been inside the confines of the cabin.

At first it had been that unknown instinct, that tingle in the back of his mind that had told him that Airwolf and his friends were close, but then, a few minutes later that unique sound that really defied description but which made his heart start pumping just that little bit faster and the blood run cold in his veins, every time he heard it, announced the arrival of the 'cavalry' as he had called them, and seeing the fear and the curiosity in Kenny's eyes, he had reassured the boy, telling him that it was friends of his, coming to help, and that he shouldn't be scared because the noise was coming from a very special helicopter.

Hawke had seen the child's eyes light up as they headed for the door, unsure if Kenny had heard him when he had told him to stay close.

Now, as Airwolf climbed and turned gracefully, Hawke gazed down at the boy and found him staring in open mouthed awe at the receding aircraft, and recognized it as the same look that settled on Dominic Santini's face every time they drove out to the Lair to prepare for a mission.

"Those are your friends?" Kenny stuttered. "In that helicopter?"

"Yeah," Stringfellow Hawke found himself grinning down at the boy with pride and genuine relief. "Those are my friends, in that helicopter."

"Wow!" Kenny murmured, still entranced by the big black and white shark-like apparition, even though Airwolf was almost out of sight, sinking behind the distant trees, Dominic Santini making the approach to the landing site.

"How would you like to ride in her?" Hawke raised his voice now, the boom of Airwolf's engines and her unique signature shriek having left him more than a little deaf.

When Kenny just stared back at him in shock, his wide blue eyes almost filling his face, Hawke found himself wondering if the child was having the same difficulties in hearing him, but then the boy shook his head, a bit like a dog shaking water out of it's ears, and quickly pulled himself together. When he opened his mouth, his thin voice was also raised, and sounding about two octaves higher than it had been before.

"Who?" Me?" he squeaked.

"Yes, you," Hawke nodded, gingerly, setting the world spinning again, to go along with his still ringing ears and blurred vision, knowing that he did not really have any other choice than to take the boy along. He couldn't leave him here, in case Frank back tracked, and, he silently conceded, he needed Kenny's help if he was going to get to the paddock under his own steam.

"Really?"

"Yeah, sport. Really," Hawke chuckled at the precious look on the child's face.

"Wow!" Kenny suddenly launched himself at Hawke, almost knocking the already unsteady man off his feet and again Hawke was forced to accept just how weak he still was.

However, he was genuinely touched by the child's affectionate gesture.

"Easy, pal," he gently cradled the boy to him for a moment, then lightly touched the back of his head, encouraging the boy to tip back his head so that he could look up into Hawke's face.

"You've got to promise me that you'll do as you are told, though, Kenny. It's real important, that you do as you are told, and don't touch anything."

"I promise."

"Good, now let's get moving. Midge is counting on us, right?"

"Right."

"Ready?"

"Ready!"

0-0-0-0

_**The **__**Lower Paddock at the Goodwin Place, **_

_**Washington State,**_

As soon as Dominic Santini had set Airwolf down in the lower paddock, careful to avoid the filthy, mud spattered once white, ancient flatbed truck, haphazardly parked behind, or from his perspective, in front of a heavily overgrown hedgerow, Caitlin O'Shannessy was pulling off her helmet and scrambling out of her seat.

"And where in the hell do you think you're going?" Dominic Santini demanded, regarding her with eyes wide and an exasperated and incredulous expression on his face.

"Where'd'ya think, Dom!" she retorted, somehow getting her feet tangled as she tried to climb out between her seat and the console before her, and the co-pilot's vacant seat.

"You heard what he said as well as I did!" Santini erupted. "Besides which, missy, there's a lunatic fugitive running around out there!" he reminded her, his voice rising both in volume and pitch.

"Exactly!" Caitlin countered, finding herself somehow wedged in, in her haste to try to get out of the cramped avionics bay. "And Hawke and that kid are like sitting ducks out there!" she pointed out heatedly, finally extricating herself from the confined space.

However, she stopped in her tracks when out of the corner of her eye she spotted Dominic Santini reaching up to flick off the overhead switches, cutting off the engines and watched as he too began to claw at his helmet.

"What are you doin'?"

"What do you think?" Santini snarled as he finally pulled his helmet off and looked her squarely in the eyes. "I'm comin' with you!"

"But …. But …. Now, Dom …."

"Now listen up, Texas, you might be able to ride roughshod over the hands on your Daddy's ranch, but this is me you're talking to now. If you think I'm gonna let you loose out there with some crazed maniac running around with Lord know's what on his mind, then you're even crazier than you look!" Santini blustered as he stowed his helmet on the empty co-pilot's chair and quickly flicked his eyes over the gauges to make sure that everything was off and that Airwolf was secured.

"And somebody is gonna need to play referee when you two start knocking lumps out of each other," he allowed his eyes to settle at last on Caitlin O'Shannessy's face and found a look of indignation there.

"Or get into whatever else you got planned for him for scaring the hell out of you," he finally allowed his rumpled old face to slide into a grin and watched understanding suddenly dawn in the redhead's blue/gray eyes.

"I'm pretty sure you'll find an excuse to get him into a clinch, one way or the other," he chuckled, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively, and Caitlin O'Shannessy was suddenly chuckling along with him, despite the beautiful, delicate blush blooming on her cheeks.

"Am I that transparent?"

"No, honey, you're Caitlin O'Shannessy!" Santini roared with laughter but Caitlin only continued to smile indulgently at him and waited for him to regain his composure. "Honey, you ain't the only one who's eager to see him, ya know."

"Yeah," Caitlin sighed and regarded him with soft, understanding eyes. "I know. So what are we waiting around for! C'mon! Let's go!"

0-0-0-0

Letting out a soft moan of agony, feeling his weak legs buckle under him, Stringfellow Hawke pitched forward and fell heavily to his knees, but not before roughly pushing his young assistant away from him so that he would not drag the child to the ground with him when he fell.

They hadn't made much in the way of progress, and Hawke was suffering for every laborious inch they had travelled, breathless, his whole body aching in protest and shaking with fatigue, and they still had considerable ground to cover before they reached their destination.

Since they had set out, Hawke had had to stop every few steps to get his breath and his balance, warding off nausea and gritting his teeth against the pain in his head, chest wrist, knee and ankle. His vision was terribly blurred, by both perspiration dripping from his brow caused by the exertion and the pain shooting through his head, making his eyes water.

He had never felt so weak and pathetic in his life, and had found himself leaning more and more heavily against Kenny as they trudged on, even though there had been buildings and trees to hang on to along the way when he needed to stop.

Unfortunately, now they were out in more open ground with only the odd tree or hedge or rotting fence post to cling to for support, having made it around the outside of the cabin and to the top of the track that lead to the fire road, which in turn lead to the lower paddock and the highway beyond, and at this point, there was nothing for Hawke to reach out to, to save himself and he now found himself on his hands and knees in the dust, coughing and gagging and fighting for everything breath, his stomach gamboling over and over and his eyes filling with fresh tears as the jolt sent more pain crashing through his body and stinging his palms and his knees.

Kenny hurriedly came to stand beside him, dusting himself off after his own tumble and eyed Hawke dubiously as he struggled to breathe and keep his balance.

"Are you ok, kid?" Hawke managed to gasp out, then suddenly grew still, turning his head slightly to one side, his features pinched with pain and concentration, as though he were listening hard and looking to the boy like a dog scenting the air.

"Yeah. I'm good," Kenny confirmed, a wry smile twisting his lips as he watched Hawke's face, recognizing the look from a few moments before, when he had told him that he thought that his friends were coming. "You hear something?"

"Yeah. Someone's coming," Hawke lowered his eyes now and regarded Kenny, taking in the uncertainty and fear that were suddenly in his big blue eyes, realizing that the youngster was afraid that it was Frank returning with Bridget, having made her tell him about the truck, forcing her to show him where it was parked.

Aware that there was a slight chance that it could be Frank and Bridget returning, Hawke tried to struggle to his feet, knowing that he and Kenny had to get off the track and find some cover, until they could see if the approaching feet belonged to friend or foe.

He reached out for Kenny once more, finally rising to his feet, although he wasn't quite upright, forced to remain hunched over as he tried to drag air into his lungs.

However, Hawke's sensitive hearing told him that the footsteps were getting closer and closer and he realized that there was no time for them to find some place to hide, even if he could get his breath back and make his feet move.

Someone was quickly approaching from somewhere ahead of them where the track curved out of sight to their left.

"It's Frank!" Kenny yelped, tugging on Hawke's arm, trying to get him to move, wobbling precariously under the weight of Hawke's hand resting on his small shoulder. "C'mon String. We gotta get out of here!"

"Easy, kid," Hawke choked out, lifting his head to pin steady, reassuring eyes on the child, his brow drawn down as he again concentrated, focusing his mind and calling upon the instinct that he had always trusted to discern whether there was danger in the air, and his sharp ears, and was even more keenly aware of two separate and distinct sets of footfalls, one light and quick, barely touching the ground and the other slightly slower and heavier, scuffing the ground in a regular, and familiar gait.

"String, please, we need to find some place to hide!" Kenny demanded, tugging on Hawke's sleeve once more, his face contorted with terror at the thought that Frank was coming back to continue tormenting them.

"It's ok, Kenny," Hawke reached up with his free hand and gently cupped the child's anxious face and surprised Kenny by giving him a wide, smug smile. "It's ok," he assured the child in a low, steady voice, for he knew it to be the truth.

He would know those footsteps anywhere.

Dominic Santini and Caitlin O'Shannessy.

"The cavalry's here," he grinned, cuffing the child's chin gently then sinking to his knees, pulled Kenny to him for a warm, reassuring hug, dropping a soft kiss into the hair on top of the child's head, relief flooding through him.

Obviously they had decided to ignore his command to wait with Airwolf, and had come looking for him and the boy.

Right now, feeling the way he did, somehow Stringfellow Hawke could not find it in him to be annoyed with them, indeed, on the contrary, he was most grateful because he didn't think that he could manage another step on his own.

"It's gonna be ok, Kenny. It's my friends, Dominic and Caitlin," he was still grinning as the child pulled away from him and looked adoringly into his face, and then he screwed up his little face and tilted his head birdlike to one side.

"How do you know that?" he demanded, a quiver of fear in his voice.

"I just do, Kenny," Hawke coughed, gasping raggedly again now and tasting blood in his mouth as he did so.

Suddenly consumed by a fit of coughing, Hawke was again forced to bend forward, doubled over, fighting for every breath, his heart beating erratically in his chest and fresh tears blurring his vision even more.

"Hawke!" Kenny exclaimed, dragging Hawke's eyes to his anxious white face.

"I'm ok," he panted, squinting the tears from his eyes. However he could see that the child was still not convinced that the approaching feet didn't belong to his Aunt and Frank.

Still very breathless, Hawke regarded the child now with as much sincerity and confidence as he could muster at that moment.

"Kenny, have I ever lied to you?" he asked in a soft, understanding voice and was relieved when the child quickly shook his head, no. "And didn't I promise you a ride in my chopper?" again the boy moved his head, this time nodding enthusiastically in the affirmative. "Do you still trust me?" Hawke asked in more serious tones now.

"Yeah," Kenny spoke at last, but his eyes darted off over Hawke's shoulder to where he could clearly hear the sounds of the heavy footsteps and the heavy breathing of the people approaching, and Hawke saw the shiver that ran down the length of the child's thin body and watched as his eyes grew wide.

"They're comin'!" Kenny squeaked, but to his credit, despite the terror gripping his heart, he stood his ground, watching as a figure began to come into view around the small bend in the track.

Still on his knees and hunched over, Hawke had his back turned to the direction the footsteps were coming from, but he made no effort to turn around, watching Kenny's face instead, knowing that from his reaction he would soon know if he was right or not about the identity of the approaching feet, and that it was too late for them to do anything to escape if indeed it turned out that he was wrong.

With his heart beating frantically in his chest, Kenny Goodwin screwed up his eyes and concentrated on watching the figures materializing around the distant bend, praying that String was right even though he half expected to see Frank dragging Midge along behind him, but then he suddenly realized that these were two very different people.

One was a large stocky man. moving slowly and somewhat stiffly, his gray/white hair sticking up untidily on top of his head, breathlessly huffing and puffing as he tried to keep up with his companion who was a little ahead of him, moving with a quicker, purposeful stride, a tall, slender woman with shoulder length fluffy golden hair. Both were clad in all in one grey pants suits, and sturdy black boots on their feet.

Hawke watched the expression on Kenny's face change from sheer terror to one of curiosity and he found himself smiling softly to himself. He could well imagine what Kenny was seeing right now, and he felt his heart skip a beat in his chest as he pictured Caitlin O'Shannessy in all her magnificent outraged glory bearing down on their position, hair flying around her face, steely eyes watchful for any danger, and Dom huffing and puffing to keep up with her.

"Is that your girl?" Kenny whispered, dragging his eyes away from the approaching couple to fix Hawke with a curious expression.

"Caitlin," Hawke breathed her name, then drew in a ragged breath, squinting tears and perspiration from his eyes and blinking rapidly, but it made no difference.

"Yeah, Caitlin. My girl," he smiled softly now, again feeling his heart flip-flop in his chest. "Does she look mad?" he asked the child now with a wry twist to his lips, knowing full well that Cait would be hopping mad with him for scaring the wits out of her, but also knowing that it would be a front, her way of covering up just how much she cared for him and how happy she was to see him.

"Kind of, I guess," Kenny confirmed for him, better able to see the expression on the woman's face as she grew closer and closer. "She's got a gun in her hand!" he gulped and swayed a little, then looked back at Hawke to find him grinning like a fool.

"It's ok, kid," Hawke assured with more than a hint of amusement in his voice now. "They know Frank is out there and they're covering us, that's all," he explained, reaching out to ruffle the child's hair once more. "I promise that she won't shoot you, Kenny. Me, on the other hand …."

"Ohmygod! Hawke!"

She was still quite a way away, but Hawke had never been more pleased to hear Caitlin's familiar voice, although he could also hear that her voice was edged with shock and concern and he realized that to her eyes, he probably didn't look so good at this precise moment, and now he could hear her heavier, swifter footsteps bringing her closer and closer.

"Hawke!" Caitlin exclaimed, coming to an abrupt halt several feet away, an expression of shock and anxiety and consternation mingled with exasperation and relief on her lovely face.

"Hello Cait," Hawke managed to gasp out, turning his head to look in her direction at last, somewhat taken aback by the look on her face, and the love in her eyes.

"Don't you hello Cait me!" she shrieked, at him, waving the gun in his face, but there was a distinct crack in her voice now.

Stringfellow Hawke could not suppress a grin, as he found himself thinking that she had never looked more beautiful to his eyes.

"What is so darn funny!" she demanded, eyes welling with tears, a confused expression on her face, not knowing whether to laugh or cry because it was just so good to see him kneeling there, and she loved him so much, she didn't know whether to hug him or shoot because he was so darned infuriating and for putting her through all this angst and worry.

"I know I've probably driven you to it, but are you really gonna shoot me, Caitlin?" Hawke spoke in low, ragged, gravel tones, panting breathlessly, but there was a gentle expression on his face, one that Caitlin O'Shannessy had never seen before, as well as amusement dancing in his beautiful, familiar eyes, and it was only then that she realized that she was waving the .45 at him.

Meekly, Caitlin clicked off the safety catch and restored the .45 to her holster, then, breathing rapidly, she returned her eyes to Hawke's face, torn between her need to rush over there and drag him into her arms and confess her true feelings and needing to maintain an impression of calm, poised, professionalism, hoping for some hint from him as to what was appropriate.

"That's better," Hawke smirked at her now, although she could see that he was struggling to get his breath and that even down on his knees, his legs were shaking badly as he swayed against the child standing beside him, who was watching the proceedings with interest. "Shall we start over? Hello Cait."

"Hello Hawke."

Suddenly, the love won out and Caitlin was running toward him, her face contorted with misery and relief and love all rolled into one, and in the next instant she was falling to her knees before his hunched figure, opening her arms to envelope him, and Stringfellow Hawke gladly allowed himself to be embraced, reaching out and wrapping his own arms around her slender body, uncaring of the pain shooting through his whole body and holding on tightly, as over Caitlin's shoulder he could now see Dominic Santini, grinning broadly, whilst rolling his eyes heavenward in exasperation and Hawke let out a long, shuddering sigh of relief and contentment as he relaxed into Caitlin's arms.

So rapt with being in the arms of the woman that he loved, it took him a moment to realize that Caitlin's body was shuddering against his own, and it dawned on him that she was crying, and he knew in that instant just how scared she had been for him, and that he had not been mistaken about just how much she loved him.

He also knew that it was time to put her out of her misery.

"Hey, hey, it's ok, Cait. I'm ok," he cooed into her ear, loosening his hold on her slightly so that he could pull away and look her in the eye.

Her face was awash with tears, her big blue/grey eyes filled with fear and relief and all the love that she was feeling in her heart at that moment, and something else, hope and anticipation, and in that instant, he knew that he had never loved her more.

He raised one hand so that he could lay his palm gently against her cheek, gazing deeply into her eyes as she responded by nuzzling his hand lovingly with her cheek, and for once in her life, Caitlin seemed to know that she should stay quiet, accepting his embrace and the tenderness of his work roughened palm against her damp cheek, gazing back at him with appealing eyes, silently begging him to be honest with her, once and for all.

"I love you, Caitlin O'Shannessy," Hawke breathed, sliding his hand around her neck so that he could pull her face to his, and as their lips met, at last, he felt Caitlin stiffen in his arms, just for a moment, as she realized exactly what he had said, and then she relaxed, clamping her lips to his and gave herself up to the moment.

Dominic Santini watched the two young people embracing with a big grin on his face, dancing a merry little jig on the spot and then let out a huge sigh of relief that at last there would be no more misunderstandings or denials about how they really felt about each other, then breathless, shared a cheeky grin with the boy standing just to one side of the kissing couple, still watching with interest.

However, when the kiss seemed to be going on forever, Santini decided that they needed a healthy dose of reality, that or a bucket of cold water thrown over them, and pulled himself together.

"Enough already!" Santini snarled now. "Enough of the canoodling, already! You love him and he loves you, hurrah for you, but if you haven't forgotten, there's a Looney Tune out there holding this kid's Aunt hostage!" he reminded, smothering a smirk as the bewildered couple finally broke the kiss and held on to each other, gazing deeply into each other's eyes, breathless, and flushed and grinning like fools.

"You look like hell, kid," Santini admonished as he strode up to Hawke and Caitlin, noting the way that the younger man was struggling to get his breath and realizing that it had nothing to do with the kiss he had just shared with the woman that he loved, and the pain etched into his pale, drawn face, but there was a sparkle in his eyes and a smile on his lips as he kept one arm draped around Caitlin's narrow waist.

"Good to see you too, Dom," Hawke finally let Caitlin slip from his grasp as Dominic Santini leaned down and took him into his arms in a bear hug. "Good to see you can still follow orders," he grinned when Santini finally pulled away from him and was rewarded by one of Santini's pointed glares.

"Hey, Kenny, come meet the cavalry," Hawke reached out to the child now, not wanting him to feel left out. "Kenny Goodwin, meet Dominic Santini and Caitlin O'Shannessy, the gal I'm gonna marry."

Hawke immediately saw the startled look on Caitlin's face, and despite the fact that he could barely get his breath and he hurt all over, he could not stop himself from chuckling.

"Just in case you were wondering, I would _**never**_ kiss my sister like _**that,**_" he winked at her, knowing that once she had got over the initial shock of his confession, her next question was likely to be, but how do you love me, like a friend, or a sister?

"So while I'm down here on my knees, and in front of witnesses, so there can be no mistake, and no more doubts, will you marry me, Caitlin O'Shannessy?"

Caitlin took a small pace forward on her knees, a calm, placid expression on her face as she took Hawke's hand in her own now and gazed deeply into his bright, tear filled blue eyes.

"Well, Caitlin? Will you?"

"What do you think?" she responded on a whisper, leaning in once more to claim his lips with her own.

"I hate to rain on your parade and spoil the party, but we really don't have time for this, kids!" Santini bellowed, watching their antics with incredulity. "There's a lady in trouble out there counting on us to help her!"

"He's right," Hawke sighed regretfully, as they parted, reluctantly, gently leaning his forehead against Caitlin's, gazing lovingly, with somewhat watery and unfocused eyes, into the eyes of the woman that he loved and who was brave enough to take him on, wondering why it had taken him so long to reach this point on the rocky road of their friendship, when surely this had been the inevitable destination.

"Hold that thought," he grinned at Caitlin, amazed to find her blushing prettily at him. "And when all this craziness is over, I'll expect a proper answer from you."

"No need. I love you too, but I think you've known that for a long time, and I'd be honored and delighted to spend the rest of my life with you, Stringfellow Hawke," her face broke into a huge, triumphant grin, despite the tears shimmering in her eyes.

"Hallelujah and amen!" Santini exclaimed, throwing his arms up in the air as he watched his two young friends kiss once more, secretly delighted for both of them, but mindful that they still had work to do, and that Hawke really needed to get to a hospital and get himself checked out.

"Enough! Celebrate later; we've got work to do!"

Again the couple parted, reluctantly, and Hawke gladly accepted Caitlin's support when she slipped her arm around his waist and drew him in close to her.

Dominic Santini also came up beside him now, and with both of their help, Hawke finally managed to get to his feet, but it was clear for both Santini and Caitlin to see that he was far too weak to be able to walk to Airwolf.

Hawke suddenly found himself being lifted from his feet as Caitlin and Santini slid their arms around his shoulders and under each of his knees, lifting him easily, and taking his weight between them began to carry him down the track toward the paddock where they had landed Airwolf, with Kenny Goodwin trotting along behind them.

However, Hawke did not protest, despite the fact that they were bumping and jolting him around with every step on the uneven ground, he just savored the fact that he was back with the people that he loved, aware of the look of disbelief on Caitlin's face when ever she turned her head to look at him, mingled with all the love she had for him in her heart, and he realized that somehow, a great weight had been lifted from his soul and he knew that for the first time in years he was truly at peace with himself and that he had made the right decision.

As they hurried on toward the paddock and Airwolf, Stringfellow Hawke made a solemn vow to himself, that after this was all over, he would no longer live in fear of loving and he would spend his every waking moment of every day for the rest of his life showing Caitlin O'Shannessy just how dear she was to him, and just how much he loved her so that she would never again have cause to doubt him.


	28. Chapter 28

**_Chapter Twenty Seven._**

_**Washington State,**_

_**On a mountain somewhere close to the Goodwin Place.**_

"Keep movin!" Frank bellowed as he roughly pushed Bridget Goodwin ahead of him, his hand shoving so hard in the middle of her back she snagged her foot in a tangle of loose stones and twisted rotting tree roots and lost her balance, falling heavily to the ground, flat on her face, with an audible expulsion of breath.

Sprawled on her stomach, her nose only inches away from the ground, assaulted by the rising stench of rotting wet vegetation, breathing hard, Bridget closed her eyes briefly, and emitting a soft groan, prayed for some kind of inspiration, or some kind of a chance to make a run for it and get away from her tormentor.

However, she knew that it was futile.

Since he had dragged her away from the cabin, he had forced her to lead the way toward the highway, but Frank was no fool and he had been suspicious from the outset that she might try to pull a fast one and lead him away from the road and deeper into the wooded mountainside, stalling for time so that Kenny could summon help.

Frank had kept a rigid hold on her at the beginning, then realized that it was hindering their progress and so he had shoved her ahead of him, still waving the knife in her face as a reminder of what he might do if she did not co-operate, and realizing that right now, Frank probably did not care about using the knife to kill her, reluctantly, Bridget had kept their route parallel to the strip of winding blacktop, allowing Frank to believe that it was the main highway north to the Canadian border, when in actual fact, it was a local route that lead to a long abandoned Ranger's Station and Thunder Falls.

Bridget had no idea where she would go beyond that.

She didn't have much of a plan beyond staying alive long enough to allow Kenny to raise the alarm, for in the instant that Frank had first pressed the blade of that knife against her throat, Bridget had accepted that sooner or later, he would have to kill her.

It was his only option now.

He couldn't take her with him all the way to the Canadian border because he knew that she would only slow him down, and he could not leave her behind, at least not alive, for she could identify him, and if the cops or anyone else for that matter got to her before he made it to the border, she would be able to give them a description and tell them which way he was headed, and soon he would find the net closing in around him.

Still, for the time being, Frank needed her, and she had suddenly remembered something that Buddy had said. She would have an advantage over Frank because she knew these hills, and it was then that she had suddenly remembered the Rangers Station and the Falls, which were so badly eroded, the rocks crumbling under the weight of the fast flowing torrent they had been deemed unsafe and out of bounds to all but the most foolhardy, and a plan had begun to form in her mind.

She figured that it would take about a half an hour of walking at a good, steady pace over the steep, rough mountain terrain, to reach the Rangers Station about a mile and a half up ahead of them, plenty of time to allow Kenny to reach one of their distant neighbors down in the valley, and that once she reached the Rangers Station, she could persuade Frank that the only way for them to progress toward the border was to get across the Falls.

There had once been a rope bridge there, she recalled, having been there many times as a child, clutching tightly onto her father's and George's hands as they stood at a safe distance and marveled at the magnificent cascade of water that tumbled over the precipice, but it was probably rotted away, or made unusable by the Rangers Service to avoid accidents, so the only way would be to pick their way over the rocks that surrounded the cataract.

The Falls were over a hundred feet high and spanning a gorge that was almost as wide as it was deep. An almost vertical wall of fast flowing white water emptying out of the High Lake further up the mountain and racing down the hillside and the rocks that surrounded them were jagged and crumbling, undermined by the constant flow of water the wild winter storms, and they would be treacherous, slick with the spray rising from the cascade like steam, but she seemed to remember that there was a narrow ledge, concealed behind the wall of water.

She had caught very brief glimpses off it in small breaks in the flow of water when she had been a child, and she now found herself praying that it would be wide enough for them to find a way across to the other side, if indeed it was still there at all and wasn't just a figment of her imagination.

Any other time it would be madness to try to attempt to cross the Falls, but as far as Bridget could see, she was a dead woman anyway, and if she could take Frank with her, then at least her death would have some meaning, for Kenny would not have to live the rest of his life in fear that Frank was still out there and that he would come back one day to finish what he had started.

It was a sacrifice that she would willingly make, and although she knew that her death would leave Kenny all alone in the world, she found some small comfort in the hope that the stranger she had taken into her home and whom had protected herself and her nephew in this dark and terrifying time, Buddy, might indeed still be alive and that when he learned what had happened to her, he might be moved to take the child in and give him a home, or at the very least, be involved in finding someone else who might take Kenny under their wing and love him and take care of him, because he seemed like the kind of man who would fight for what was right for Kenny, and she had silently blessed Buddy, whoever he really was, for turning up when he had.

They had made some progress, Bridget keeping a few paces ahead of Frank, moving laboriously, one foot in front of the other, not wanting to incur his wrath, silently working out the details of her plan, when suddenly the world around them had been violently disturbed, filled with the craziest noise that Bridget had ever heard in her life, a deafening racket that sounded impossibly like part machine and part animal, screeching and screaming, booming and droning, echoing and bouncing eerily off the mountains and ringing in their ears, and from that moment on, Frank had grown more antsy and enraged, filled with a paranoia that some one or some thing was coming for him.

"What the hell is that!" Frank had screamed in her face, twisting around, whipping his head around and looking in every direction at the same time to try to find the source of the terrifying noise.

"Indian love call?" Bridget had gasped out breathlessly, trying to keep her balance after another one of Frank's shoves. "Big foot?" she added, somewhat hysterically for the sound had disturbed her too, deep down to her very core, setting her nerves and her teeth on edge.

She had lived on this mountain all her life and she had never heard a sound like that before.

"How the hell should I know!"

"Cops!" Frank had hissed into her face, his spittle flying all around her face then pulled away once more, spinning around, and eyes darting every which way. "I thought, just for a minute, it sounded like a helicopter," he muttered to himself but Bridget still overheard.

"I never heard a helicopter that sounded like that before," she had mumbled in response, knowing that it was still too soon for Kenny to have reached a safe haven and raised the alarm. "Besides, local cops don't have the funds for a helicopter," she told him, dragging air into her aching lungs.

"Whatever the hell it was, we gotta get out of here!" he had turned on her again, shoving her roughly ahead of him once more, waving the knife out in front of him, close to her cheek so that she could see it out of the corner of her eye, as she trudged on once more, realizing that Frank was losing it, and that that might work in her favor later.

Frank had made her speed up, not caring about her tripping or putting her foot down a rabbit hole, shoving her roughly ahead of him, keeping one eye on the twisting ribbon of black top below them and to their right, casting around him, looking to the trees one minute and the skies above the next, eyes wide and startled like a rabbit caught in the headlights of a fast approaching car.

"Get up, dammit! Get up!" Frank roared, advancing on Bridget now, reaching out with his free hand to grab her clothes, hauling her roughly to her feet, his sharp voice and their ragged, fractured breathing the only sound in the unusually quiet stillness, as though every other living thing that had heard the strange, unworldly sound had had the good sense to find some place quiet and safe to hide and they were the only ones stupid enough to still be out in the open.

No sooner was she on her feet than she found Frank glaring at her, his face rammed up close to her own, so close their noses were almost touching, and Bridget found it hard to focus properly without going cross eyed, and she let out a startled gasp as she again found the blade of the knife jammed up against her throat, feeling it jump against the erratically pulsing veins in her neck.

"Go ahead lady!" Frank hissed once more sending more spittle spraying into her face so that she flinched and pulled back from him. However Frank had a firm hold on her clothing and yanked her back toward him, bulging eyes aflame with rage staring down into her own terrified sapphire eyes.

"Give me an excuse!" he raged. "Just give me one good reason why I shouldn't just slit your throat right now, bitch!"

"You need me," Bridget panted raggedly, her legs trembling violently and her eyes watering with the effort of remaining focused on his livid, impatient countenance.

"I'm your ticket out of here," she added for good measure.

Frank suddenly released his hold on her and she automatically took a step backward, but this resulted in her stumbling over another pile of loose rocks and she lost her balance, ending up on her backside amid a pile of dead, wet leaves and other rotting vegetation.

Breathless and hurting from the jolt of the unexpected fall and heavy landing, Bridget hung her head and tried to get her breath back, then quickly found herself looking up into Frank's face once more, only now some of the anger had gone from those beady black eyes.

"You'll never find your way to the border without me," she told him breathlessly. "Face it, it's gonna take a miracle for any car to come along that road, and even if we made it down there and we did stop it in time, you still need me. Take a look at yourself. Do you think for one minute any one is going to stop for someone who looks like you do, alone on this lonely stretch of highway?" she taunted although she knew that she was playing with fire, but it felt good to be turning the tables on him and using his fear of capture to control him and manipulate him for a change.

"Besides, it's Sunday, Frank, and most sane people who aren't still in bed will be in church or fixing to spend the day with their family," she carried on, watching the light of realization dawn in his dark eyes, knowing that she was getting through to him at last.

"Take a look around you, pal. This is the boonies, way past the back of beyond, not down town Seattle, so you'd better get used to the idea that we are going to have to do this the hard way. On foot," she paused to draw in a long, ragged breath, and the look on Frank's face now told her that she had made her point and that he was beginning to realize the truth of what she was saying.

"Face it, Frank. The only people that are likely to be on that road, today, are the ones out looking for you and Jesse. Once Kenny raises the alarm, these hills are going to be crawling with cops and they'll have road blokes at every border crossing."

"You need me, Frank, because I know a way to get to Canada without having to use the highway. It's gonna be rough, a short cut over the mountains, but you're a big, strong, tough guy, be a piece of cake for you, and it's the last place the cops, or anyone else would think to look for us."

"And why are you so willing to help me, all of a sudden?"

"Because maybe, if I get you safely to the border, you'll have a change of heart and not kill me. My life in exchange for your freedom and a chance to start over in a new country," she paused, watching his face for any reaction, but it remained emotionless, implacable.

"Dammit man, in all likelihood you just killed my husband! My son, and the child growing inside me right now need their Momma, so I will do whatever I need to do to stay alive. Do you hear me? I will not go quietly or willingly, and leave my boy motherless and alone in this world, and if that means helping you to evade capture, so be it."

Frank regarded her with cold, calculating eyes for several long seconds then suddenly snaked out his arm, extended his free hand out to her, silently offering to help her to her feet once more.

"Do we have a deal, Frank? I get you safely to the border and then you let me go?" she demanded, ignoring his outstretched hand and focusing on his face instead.

"I guess so, Midge. I've sure had my fill of prison food, so I don't aim to go back there any time soon," he grabbed a handful of her clothing and gently lifted Bridget up on to her feet, waiting until he was sure that she had got her balance before releasing his hold on her clothes.

"But remember, you try any funny business and …."

He raised the knife, turning the blade over and pretended to draw the sharp edge cross his throat.

"Do you understand me, Midge?"

"Yes, Frank. I understand you. I think we both understand each other," she held his gaze with her own, knowing in her heart that she had just made a deal with the devil, but she found that she did not care, she had already accepted her fate and now all she really cared about was Kenny and giving him the time to reach safety.

"Ok, so what are we waiting for?" Bridget dusted herself down, ignoring the aches and pains she was now feeling in her lower back and legs after her backward fall and moving past Frank, set out once more, leading the way, her mind focused on what she had to do, not allowing herself to think of anything else and silently praying that one day Kenny would forgive her and understand why she had done what she was about to do next.

0-0-0-0

_**The Goodwin Place,**_

_**Lower Paddock.**_

"String, this is crazy," Dominic Santini regarded his young friend anxiously, watching as Hawke was breathlessly struggling to pull the leg of his flight suit pants up over the boots he had roughly jammed onto this bare feet a few seconds before.

Hawke had been leaning heavily against Santini to maintain his balance, wobbling on one leg as he eased the second leg of the all in one flight suit over the boot and up around his ankle, but then he had had to stop for breath, the exertion simply too much for him.

"If you think I'm taking one more step dressed only in these flimsy pj's …." Hawke rasped, gasping raggedly for breath as he raised his head from where he had been concentrating on the task of pulling up the pant legs of the flight suit, suddenly finding himself confronted with Dominic Santini's anxious face.

"You'll be lucky if you can take one more step, period!" Santini fixed the younger man with steady brown eyes filled with genuine concern.

"I'm ok, Dom," he assured his old friend, dragging his eyes away from Santini's face, returning his attention to the task of dressing himself without keeling over and worrying the older man any more than he already was, not wanting to lie to the old man's face, but also not wanting to have to admit to the truth either.

Hawke knew that Dominic Santini was not blind, or stupid. He could see for himself that his every movement was a struggle for breath and to tolerate the pain in his head and chest, but if Dominic thought that he was going to rail rode him into sitting against a tree and waiting for him and Caitlin to deal with Frank and then come back for him, then Dom had another think coming.

"Sure you are, kid," Santini responded, a hint of sarcasm edging his voice now.

"It looks worse than it really is," Hawke again assured, through clenched teeth, which spoiled the effect, just a little, but he continued to struggle to pull up the leg of his pants over the top of the flimsy material of the pajamas Bridget Goodwin had loaned to him, however he was still painfully aware of Santini's scrutiny.

"Sure it does," Santini's growled and Hawke could not resist looking up.

The expression that he found on Santini's face clearly indicated to him that he did not believe a word of it.

"I'd hate to think you felt as bad as you look!" Santini roared.

Stringfellow Hawke gave up all pretense of trying to dress himself and forced himself to look Dominic Santini square in the eye, and he knew that he was not fooling his old friend one jot with his stoicism and bravado, and that the same probably went for Caitlin too, who was presently getting Kenny Goodwin seated and comfortable in the rear compartment of Airwolf and checking her instruments to ascertain the progress of the fugitive Frank and his hostage, Bridget Goodwin, and suddenly, a wry half smile was curving at his lips.

"What can I say? When you're right, you're right. Just don't tell Caitlin how bad I really feel because I wouldn't want her worrying that she's gonna be a widow before she's even married," Hawke moaned softly when chuckling made his ribs ache even more. "You haven't said much about that."

"What's there to say, except it's been a long time in comin'," Santini responded, his expression softening just a little now. "I'm happy for the both of you. I just wish you hadn't put us all through the wringer all this time, when we all knew it was inevitable," he sighed once more and was mildly surprised to find Hawke nodding back at him in agreement.

"You know what they say about the road to true love," Hawke grinned.

"It never runs smooth," Santini concluded. "So, you're gonna straighten up and fly right?"

"Sure am, Dom, 'cos I don't think Cait would settle for anything else."

"And the Lady?"

"What about the Lady?" Hawke quirked an eyebrow curiously now.

"You're not gonna give her back? You're still gonna carry on with the stuff for The Firm?"

"Why not? I can't see Archangel objecting to us carrying on. Cait already knows pretty much everything there is to know about Airwolf and our involvement with Michael, and Cait knows what she's taking on, Dom, all of it, and that's just a small part of why I love her so much, because she doesn't flinch from doing what needs to be done and she can take care of herself, most of the time. She understands what makes me tick, my moods and neuroses, and she loves me in spite of all that."

"She sure does," Santini concurred softly, then pinned his young friend with steady, questioning eyes. "And you love her?"

"Yeah, Dom. I love her."

"And you've gotten this nonsense out of your head that you're a jinx now?"

"Yeah, Dom. I have to believe my own eyes, don't I? Caitlin seems to have broken that particular jinx," Hawke smiled softly now.

"There comes a time when you have to bow to the inevitable. I know it's taken me a while, but I'm finally ready to accept that I can't hope to control everything in this life. I don't have power over life and death, Dom, and it was arrogant and conceited of me to think all this time that I was solely responsible for killing all the people I loved, especially when every day I was confronted with evidence that it just wasn't true. You were still alive, and even after everything that we've been through together, Caitlin is still alive too."

Dominic Santini regarded his young friend, nodding silently, his heart warmed by the honesty and sincerity that he could see shining in Hawke's unfocused eyes and knew that the younger man was not just saying the words because he thought it was what Santini needed to hear, but that he really did believe them.

"I'm glad to hear it, String." Santini reached out and laid a warm, reassuring hand on Hawke's forearm, smiling softly now.

"I'm sorry I screwed up your vacation."

"You didn't," Santini assured. "We called it off because Morris broke his damned ankle, and Muriel Manning had a stroke," he explained solemnly.

"I'm sorry, Dom. I know what good friends the Mannings are to you."

"It ain't looking good for her, String."

"Then I'm even sorrier that you had to leave them to come hunting around out here for me."

"Don't be. I don't think I could have handled sitting around waiting for her to die and watching poor Harry suffering like that," Santini confessed raggedly.

"Thanks, Dom," Hawke spoke on a deep exhalation of breath, his eyes filled with appreciation for the sacrifice that his old friend had made to come looking for him, and regret that he had once again caused Dominic so much worry.

Still leaning against the rock steady older man, Hawke gave Santini's shoulder a hard, affectionate squeeze, regarding him through extremely blurred eye and found himself hoping that Dominic could see his genuine gratitude, and love.

"For what?"

"For always being there for me. And for pulling my buns out of the fire, again," Hawke sighed softly, mindful of his sore ribs.

"So?"

"So?" Hawke frowned now.

"Aren't you going to ask how we knew your buns needed hauling out of the fire?"

As he watched his young friend, laboring to breathe, blinking frequently to try to clear his vision and focus, pain etched into his pale face, Dominic Santini was suddenly surprised to see a warm, knowing smile illuminating Hawke's face.

"Megan," Hawke spoke the name with confidence, then quirked an eyebrow as he saw the startled look on Santini's beloved face.

"How in the hell do you do that?" Santini demanded then realized that he was getting pretty tired of asking that same question.

"A lucky guess?" Hawke wheezed in lieu of a chuckle.

"Smart ass," Santini mumbled. "You can joke about it, mister, but if it wasn't for that lovely lady, we'd be sitting back there in the hangar believing that you were ticklin' trout and swigging back beer with Charlie Roth," Santini somehow resisted the urge to wag his finger in Hawke's face, but the younger man had no difficulty in recognizing the tone of his old friend's voice.

"Lovely lady?" Hawke decided to focus on something else rather than Santini's annoyance and indignation. "Is there something you want to tell me?"

"Mind your own bees wax," Santini grunted, giving Hawke his own version of the evil eye his young friend usually turned on him when he was sticking his beak into things Hawke preferred to keep to himself.

"Dom," Hawke tried his best to look steadily into Santini's face, despite his blurred vision, silently asking for forgiveness for his tactlessness, but as he blinked again and his eyes focused a little better, briefly, he found a harsh expression on Santini's face, and he realized that Dominic really did have feelings for Megan Ravenson, and he had overstepped the mark in teasing him about her.

"Megan is the one who knew you were in trouble," Santini cut him off, resisting the urge to prod the younger man in the chest now. "She came to tell us that something was wrong and she's been right every step of the way. I know how you feel about Meg and what she can do …."

"Dom, I …."

"I don't wanna hear it!" Santini roared once more, this time drawing a pained and impatient look from Hawke now.

"Dom, will you cool your jets and let me finish, please!" Hawke growled and watched as Santini suddenly snapped his mouth closed and reigned in his own anger, then fixing Hawke with steady deep brown eyes, waited to hear what the younger man had to say.

"Dom, I know Megan has a genuine gift," Hawke confessed on a ragged breath now, trying to maintain steady eye contact with Dominic Santini so that he would know that he was being sincere and not just trying to placate him.

"I've always know, Dom, and please, don't ask me how, because I can't explain it," he paused to draw in a calming breath and softened his expression just a little now.

"You remember all that stuff going on with me when Meg was helping us to find Archangel?"

"I do," Santini replied succinctly. "And I always wondered what the hell had gotten into you."

"I couldn't help myself," Hawke confided. "Because I knew that she was the real deal, and I guess that I was just so scared that she would tell me that I was a fool for believing that Sinjin is still alive, and I really didn't want to hear that, believe me, especially not from her, because I knew that she was genuine, and if she said he was gone, I would also know in my heart that it was the truth. From the moment I met her, I just knew that she had a genuine gift, and I didn't want to be around her because I was afraid of what she might tell me."

"She thinks you have a gift too, and after this, I'm thinking maybe she's right," Santini regarded his young friend solemnly, but deep down he was surprised by the confession he had just made.

"Maybe she is. Out there, alone on the mountain, even when I had no idea who I was or which way was up or down, I knew you were out here, Dom. I had flashes of faces in my mind, you and Cait, and Megan, and even though I didn't know who you all were, I knew that you all cared about me and were out there looking for me."

"Hot damn! Megan said she thought you'd lost your memory!" Santini's face suddenly broke into a wide grin. "Glad you got it back, kid."

"Yeah. Me too. Courtesy of Frank and another bang on the head," Hawke found him self grinning wryly now, suddenly recalling a conversation that he had had with Bridget Goodwin, when she had told him that she had heard that another bump on the head might restore his memory and realized that she had been right.

"I owe him for that," Hawke growled breathlessly, rubbing at his jaw as he remembered the punch that had sent him flying into the fireplace. "And I owe Megan my thanks too, when I see her."

"Well you maybe won't have too long to wait," Santini informed. "She went back to Weaver to see if she could drum up some volunteers to look for you and the two fugitives. She's with Zee McVey, on her way up here as we speak with a posse of men from the town," Santini explained. "Was it bad? With those two guys?"

"Frank and Jesse. The James boys," Hawke sneered on a hiss now. "At least that's what they called themselves. Frank tried to control us with fear and intimidation," Hawke explained. "And he had an unhealthy interest in Bridget, which is why we need to get her away from him ASAP," he emitted a long, deep sigh. "What did they do anyway?"

"Tried to rob a liquor store further down the mountain."

"And?" Hawke prompted, well aware that there had to be more to it than that and that Santini was probably trying to spare him.

"There was a shoot out with the cops, one of them was killed and one other and several bystanders where caught in the crossfire, then they stole a patrol car and headed for them thar hills."

"And the Canadian border."

"Guess we should be grateful there were no more casualties," Santini eyed Hawke meaningfully.

"There was, just one. They killed the boy's dog, Boomer," there was a hard edge to Hawke's voice now for the men had committed the second cardinal sin in Hawke's eyes in hurting the dog to scare and control the boy, however Hawke found himself frowning when he saw Dominic Santini's astonished expression.

"Dom?"

"Never mind kid, its way to complicated to explain right now."

"Ok. Look Dom, we've gotta get a move on. Frank's out there with Bridget, and I figure he's hoping to flag down the first passing car, pose as a stranded couple and then hi-jack the car," Hawke explained hurriedly now, returning his attention to the pant legs of his flight suit, hitching them up around his waist, but was quickly out of breath once more, forced to raise his eyes once more to Dominic Santini, giving him an appealing look.

"Gimme a hand here will ya, Dom. This is taking way too long, and we don't have time to waste. Kenny told me that he thought he saw Frank holding a knife to Midge's throat."

"He's a mean one, huh?"

"So far, aside from killing the dog, he's been all mouth, but I still don't want to take any risks, Dom. He's desperate right now, and we both know what desperate men are capable of."

"Yeah, kid," Santini agreed, reaching out to steady Hawke with one hand while grabbing the rest of the flight suit and easing it up around his shoulders, supporting him while the younger man leaned against him, swaying, wincing and gasping for breath as he struggled into first one sleeve and then the other.

"Are you really sure about this, String?" Santini asked as Hawke finally released his hold on him so that he could draw up the zipper fastening of the flight suit, genuine concern in his eyes and in his voice as he watched Hawke swallowing down hard and squinting away a crop of fresh, pain induced tears.

"Hell no," Hawke choked out. "But I'm sure as hell not gonna hang around here watching the grass grow while you guys have all the fun! This is personal, Dom," Hawke pinned Santini with steely blue eyes and the older man immediately recognized the look on Hawke's face.

"And I owe the lady, big time, for being brave enough to take me in and look after me. I'm not sure I would have made it through one more night out there on the mountain, but she took a huge risk, bringing me into her home when there was only her self and the boy, and trusting me when this rotten business started."

Dominic Santini found himself nodding gently in understanding.

"You're going straight to a hospital when this thing is squared away, no arguments."

"No arguments," Hawke sighed, carefully, well aware that he was going to need some serious patching up and soon. "Now let's go! Kenny and Midge are counting on us."

"Midge?" Santini frowned as he slid his arm around Hawke's upper body and took most of the younger man's weight as they set off toward where Airwolf was parked.

"I mean Bridget. It's kind of a nickname, but she doesn't really like anyone using it. The kids at school used to taunt her with Bridget the midget," Hawke panted, desperately trying to keep his footing as they hurried on.

"I can sure understand why she doesn't like it, but believe me, she may be small, but she is formidable. What?" Hawke paused for a breath, leaning heavily against his old friend as he stumbled along beside him, and found himself looking up into Santini's smiling face.

"I'll tell you about it some time, kid, but I'm tellin' ya now, you won't believe a word of it!" Santini chuckled, tightening his hold on the younger man as they made their way toward Airwolf, Santini making for the left side and the co-pilot's seat.

"Dom?" Hawke quizzed, realizing Santini's intention.

"Forget it, String. You can't see worth a damn so there's no way you're taking up my precious Lady!"

Hawke opened his mouth to protest, then realized that Santini was right, and that if he insisted and took Airwolf's controls there was every likelihood that he would bury her nose in the mountain before they got anywhere near Frank and Bridget Goodwin's position.

He could protest all he liked but nothing would change the fact that he was probably concussed and couldn't see past the end of his nose, not to mention the pain in his chest which radiated through him with every breath and which would hinder him when he was required to use all his upper body strength to maneuver Airwolf and he was finally forced to accept that right now, he really wasn't much use to anyone.

"Ok," Hawke acquiesced with a long, hissed breath and held on; forcing his legs to pump as Santini practically dragged him toward Airwolf. "Just get us in the air, Dom. Bridget needs our help right now."

"Sure thing, kid. Leave everything to ol' Dom. He ain't ever let ya down yet, has he?" Santini paused at Airwolf's open cockpit door now and fixed steady, loving, sincere brown eyes on Stringfellow Hawke.

"No, Dom. You haven't ever let me down, and that's something else I should thank you for."

"No need, String, it comes with the territory," Santini spoke in soft, loving tones as he helped Hawke to slide carefully into the waiting vacant seat. "Just like I'll always love you like you were my own, I'll always be there if you need me," he pledged, reaching out to gently cup the younger man's beloved cheek and Hawke too raised his hand to gently squeeze Santini's forearm now.

"I love you too, Dom," Hawke rasped, breathing hard as Caitlin handed him the spare helmet over his shoulder. "I don't say it nearly enough, but it's the truth."

"I know, son. Now, put your helmet on and let's get this show on the road!"


	29. Chapter 29

**_Chapter Twenty Eight._**

_**Thunder Falls, Outside Weaver,**_

_**Washington State,**_

"Lady, are you out of your tiny little mind!" Frank raged, his beady black eyes wide and glittering dangerously in his flushed face, his features now contorted into an expression of horror, disbelief and pure unadulterated rage.

He had remained nervous, edgy, guarded, still spooked by the eerie, inexplicable noise that they had heard a while ago, as they continued to ascend, making good progress with the steady, even pace that Bridget had set.

As the terrain had grown steeper and it had become harder to keep from slipping, or they had to pick their way around or over jagged rock formations, Frank had taken the lead, Bridget instructing him which way to go, and grudgingly accepting his help over the trickier sections of the steeper, more slippery obstacles.

As they progressed, it became harder and harder to ignore the thunderous roar, getting louder and louder the higher they climbed. A constant, all encompassing rumbling sound that filled the head and wore away at the nerves.

Bridget knew that Frank could hear it too, and for a while she could tell from his manner that he thought that it was the same almost supernatural noise that they had heard earlier, and she began to wonder if he thought that it was some kind of ghost, or an ancient Indian spirit dogging his footsteps, and she was happy to let his mind conjure up all kinds of demons and horrors for him, until, wild eyed and completely spooked, Frank had finally asked: "What the hell _**is**_ that?"

"Just a little waterfall," she had told him innocently and had never been more grateful to see the outline of the dilapidated buildings of the Rangers Station just coming in to view. Frank too had seen the buildings looming on the distant crest and had given her a wary look.

"Rangers Station. Don't worry, it's been abandoned for years," she had assured him.

"You wouldn't be yanking my chain now, would you, Midge?" Frank had raised the knife so that she could see it clearly, the threat obvious.

"We have a deal, Frank."

"Yeah, we have a deal," he had smiled maliciously at her then returned the knife to the waistband of his jeans, giving her another rough shove to encourage her to move on.

As they got closer Frank had forged ahead, leaving Bridget to fend for her self on the last few feet to the top of the crest, and then she had spent several minutes getting her breath back and waiting for Frank to return from his investigation of the run down cluster of buildings.

His sour expression had told her that he had been disappointed and had not found whatever it was he had been looking for and then he had given her another rough shove, grunting out: "Get movin'!"

As they got closer and closer to the Falls Bridget could feel her legs starting to shake and quiver with every step, not with fatigue, but sheer terror, and she found herself confronted with the possibility that her nerves would fail her at the last moment.

She did not want to die.

With every step she kept thinking of all the things that she wanted to do with her life and how much she had missed out on.

She still had so much to offer, and so much to do, not the least of which was learning to be a good mother to Kenny.

As she forced each foot in front of the other and her legs to carry her onward, Bridget found herself getting more and more angry, at Frank, and she found herself hanging on to that fury, fuelling it with her rage at being denied the chance to see her nephew grow into a wonderful young man, perhaps even raising a family of his own one day, and for robbing her of one last chance to find someone to share all of that and the rest of her life with.

Some one like Zee McVey for instance, who she knew had had a crush on her since they were kids.

Faced with the realization that she was about to die, Bridget finally allowed herself to accept that she too had had feelings for Zee McVey for a very long time. She had always resisted the temptation to get involved with him, wanting to concentrate on establishing her business, always telling herself that there would be time later, when the shop and the bakery were doing well, to turn her attention to more domestic matters.

Zee was sweet, and she had liked him and admired him since they were children, and she had respected him and been more than grateful to him for taking George's carvings and extending him a little credit in the store from time to time.

He was a good friend too, and whilst he wasn't the most attractive man on the planet and she wasn't much to write home about herself, he did have a certain charm, and she knew that he cared about her.

She silently had to concede that it would not take much for her to fall in love with Zee.

They had known each other for a long time, and they understood each other, and whilst she didn't think it would turn out to be the romance of the century, she knew that Zee would bend over backwards to ensure her happiness, and in turn, she would do everything in her power to make sure that he was happy and contented too.

Zee was a good man, a solid citizen with a heart of gold and a good businessman with a strong work ethic.

Despite his rather intimidating appearance, Zee was a kind, gentle, generous man who would treat her like a queen and make sure that Kenny got everything that a growing boy needed as well as love and friendship and a roof over his head.

All of this was to be denied her because of this cold, callous, selfish, thug. A stranger who had barged in to her life and turned it upside down inside of twenty four hours and who didn't give a damn about anything except saving his own skin.

As her rage intensified, Bridget clung to it, using it to drive her onward, telling herself that the world would be a far better place with one less Frank in it, and that she had no choice.

Frank would have no qualms about killing her.

Deal or no deal, he could not afford to leave even one witness alive or his new future in Canada would always be blighted with the fear that one day some cop would come knocking on his door.

Which ever way she looked at it, Bridget knew that she was dead and the more she thought about, with every step, the more determined she became that if she was going to die, she was damn well going to take Frank with her.

Now as they stood on an overhanging cliff looking down at the wall of water that fell over the precipice into the swirling, foaming white torrent below, Bridget felt her heart somersault in her breast as she realized that the moment of truth was upon her.

"Lady, you call that a little waterfall!" Frank seethed, eyes casting around, seeking some other escape route, or some other option, but it quickly became apparent to him that there were only two options, to go on, or turn back.

"Hey, c'mon now, it's hardly Niagara," Bridget smiled innocently and shrugged casually, praying that he would not see just how terrified she was.

"You're crazy, lady!"

"I told you it would be rough," she reminded. "And if you're not up to it …."

"It's suicidal you crazy bitch!" he screamed in to her face, and Bridget flinched in response, taking a defensive step away from him, until she realized that it took her even closer to the edge, knowing that on any other day, with any other companion, she would have heartily agreed with him.

"It's the only way, Frank," Bridget forced herself to suck in a calming breath, willing herself to keep her nerve and not give herself away.

"Once we're across the Falls, it's a pretty straight forward climb all the way to the top of the mountain, and once you're on the other side, you're in Canada," she steadily held his gaze.

"It's your choice. You can cross the Falls and be on your way to Canada, freedom and a new life, or, you can turn around and head back down the mountain, straight into the arms of the law," she paused for a moment to get her breath and to allow Frank time to take in what she had said and to weigh up the options.

"It's up to you," she told him with an edge of defiance in her voice and an unmistakable challenge in her eyes.

"You're kidding me!" Frank raged in disbelief, knowing that he was caught between a rock and a hard place.

Suddenly, his hand snapped out before him and he grabbed a handful of Bridget's clothes, roughly hauling her close to him, his hot breath fanning Bridget's face as he glared angrily at her.

"Have you ever done this before?" he demanded, dragging her closer to the edge. "Have you ever tried to get across?"

"Sure," Bridget lied, maintaining eye contact with Frank. "When I was a kid."

"You're lyin'!" Frank seethed, pulling Bridget closer to the edge. "No-one could cross that!" he accused, spitting in her face. "You scheming, conniving, sly bitch! You're tryin' to trick me! You thought fool Frank would fall for your lies and go along with you, and maybe break his damn neck out there?"

"I'm not trying anything!" Bridget gasped as Frank dragged her even closer to the edge of the overhang over looking Thunder Falls, pushing her backward so that her head was hanging over the edge and, too terrified to scream, she had no choice but to look down at the wall of water tumbling over the precipice.

"There's a ledge!" Bridget screamed out at last, her heart hammering wildly in her chest and pounding in her ears as she watched the churning whirlpool of foaming water at the bottom of the gorge, and felt the ice cold spray rising like a cloud, caressing her flushed cheeks.

"Dammit, listen to me!" she squealed, her arms flaying around as she tried to keep from falling backwards over the edge, dizzy and disorientated, adrenalin flooding through her and making her feel very sick. "Behind the main flow, there's a ledge," she managed to gasp out. "I swear I wasn't trying to trick you!" she sobbed brokenly, but he did not look convinced.

"Listen to me, Frank, why would I offer to guide you if I knew it was too dangerous and there was a chance that I wouldn't make it? I'm not that dumb! Didn't I tell you that I would do anything to live? I want to see my boy again! I want to have this baby! I don't want to die, Frank, please, believe me! I don't want to die!"

Bridget sobbed as she pleaded with Frank, praying that he would hear the sincerity in her voice, because the last part, about wanting to see Kenny again, and not wanting to die, were the truth.

"You swear," Frank took another step closer to the edge, dragging Bridget out further so that her shoulders were almost clear of the overhang.

"Yes!" she screamed.

"On your kid's life?" Frank sneered, pushing her a little further backward, and closing her eyes briefly, Bridget found herself offering up a silent prayer to her Maker that he would forgive her for what she was about to do, not wanting to die with a deliberate lie on her lips, but knowing that she had no other choice.

She had one hand free, concealed behind her back, and she quickly crossed her fingers.

She knew that Frank was talking about Kenny's life, but she deliberately misunderstood as she opened her eyes and forced herself to look straight into Frank's beady black eyes.

"Yes. I swear. On my baby's life, I swear!"

Just as suddenly as he had grabbed her and thrust her out over the edge, Frank was hauling her back toward him, spinning her around at the last minute so that she was a safe distance from the edge with her back to the Falls when she finally regained her balance.

"You'd better not be lyin' to me, Midge. God fearin' woman like you, you should know what that would mean."

"I know," Bridget panted raggedly, hatred in her eyes as she fixed them on Frank's unforgiving countenance. "I'll take my chances with Him when the time comes."

She leaned forward, heaving dryly and trying to drag air into her lungs, willing her shaking legs not to let her down then she raised her head once more and gave Frank a silent, meaningful look.

"Well, don't just stand there, Midge. Let's get on with it!" Frank threw back his head and laughed raucously. "But don't try anything stupid," he warned, pulling himself together quickly, his meaning clear as his hand again gravitated toward the hilt of the knife in the waistband of his pants. "So where is this ledge?"

"We have to go down. You can't see it from here," she told him breathlessly. "It's set back in the cliffs, behind the water. We have to get level with the top of the Falls, then you'll see it."

0-0-0-0

"Where the hell are they, Cait?" Hawke demanded once Dominic Santini had Airwolf airborne.

"Hey, I thought I was the designated driver!" Santini turned his head slightly to give his young friend a meaningful look. "You sit back and relax and enjoy the ride, and let me worry about finding Pea brain!" he grinned at Hawke, very much aware that the younger man did not like having to relinquish control and take a back seat.

In return, Hawke gave Santini one of his patented frosty glares and clamped his lips shut, although Santini could see that it was killing him to keep quiet and do as he was told.

"Now, as I was sayin' where they hell are they, Cait?"

"Still heading in a southerly direction, and still ascending."

"What?" Hawke frowned, surprised to find that Frank and his hostage where not where they were supposed to be. "They're not making for the border?"

"No. They're heading back down the mountain, back toward Weaver, only they're climbing," Caitlin confirmed.

"Kenny!" Hawke snarled through clenched teeth.

"Hey, take it easy, String," Santini warned, giving the younger man another pointed look, silently reminding him that the boy was probably terrified out of his wits after everything that he had been through in the last twenty four hours.

"Talk to me, Kenny!" Hawke ignored Santini's warning. "Where's she taking him?" he growled.

"I don't know!" Kenny squeaked in reply, and Caitlin found herself reaching out to lay a reassuring hand on the boy's knee.

"I'm sorry, Kenny," Hawke sighed deeply, realizing that he had been too harsh and wishing that he could swivel around in his seat so that he could give the boy an apologetic look. "I'm not mad at you," he told the child sincerely. "But we need to figure out what Midge is thinking, and where she's taking Frank."

"I know." Kenny sighed softly, obviously disappointed that he was letting down his new found friends. "I've never been down that way," he explained.

"Ok," Hawke sighed deeply once more. "Cait, put up a topographical map and let's see if we can figure this out."

"Say kid, why haven't you ever been that way?" Dominic Santini was curious to know, well aware that with the whole mountain on his doorstep, any boy would be curious to see as much of it as he could and explore it to its very boundaries, and for Kenny not to have gone in a particular direction, there must have been a specific reason.

"My Dad wouldn't let me."

"Why not?" Hawke asked now, also realizing that a kid as curious and spunky as Kenny would have thoroughly explored every inch of his domain.

"Because it's too dangerous."

"What's too dangerous?" Hawke and Santini spoke in unison.

"Thunder Falls."

"Thunder what?"

"Hawke!" Caitlin gasped, drawing Hawke's attention as she put up the topographical map that he had called for and saw exactly what the boy was referring to filling the screen.

"Caitlin?"

"Oh boy! It's a waterfall at the head of some kind of gorge, Hawke, approximately two kilometers southwest, elevation one thousand five hundred meters and approximately one hundred feet wide by ninety feet deep," Caitlin filled him in quickly. "There are also some buildings approximately half a kilometer away from the Falls," she added.

"Kenny?"

"It's the old Rangers Station. It was closed a long time ago when they decided that the Falls were too dangerous. The Falls are meant to be out of bounds because the water is very fast and very cold and the rocks are crumbling away around the edges. Most folks around here know it's too dangerous and they stay away."

"One hundred feet is one helluva drop," Santini mused out loud. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" he turned to Stringfellow Hawke, a startled expression on his face.

"Yeah, Dom. I told her she'd have the advantage out here because she knows these hills and Frank doesn't. I think she's planning to sacrifice herself, and take Frank with her," Hawke intoned gruffly.

"Oh hell!"

"Yeah. Right. We have to get there, ASAP, Dom!"

"You got it!" Santini confirmed adjusting both the collective and the cyclic to gain altitude and increase speed.

0-0-0-0

Bridget Goodwin stepped down onto a narrow patch of flat, gravel covered earth, dislodging a handful of small stones which disappeared over the edge and out of sight in the swirling spray and water below, and moved aside to allow Frank to join her.

She reached out to the rocks beside her which formed part of the rock wall on either side of Thunder Falls, her chest heaving as she dragged in air after the perilous climb down, feeling their slickness beneath her palm, wet from spray and lush mosses and lichen, and a cloud of ice cold spray waft across her flushed and perspiration dewed face.

Frank too was breathing hard as he stepped closer to the edge of the narrow ledge, kicking more loose stones over the edge to disappear into the swirling, raging torrent below without causing so much as a splash or a ripple in the already agitated water.

The noise was deafening so talking was pointless, but as he turned back to look at her, Bridget understood the question she saw in his glittering eyes and still clinging to the rocks with one hand, she pointed to the fast flowing main cascade as it tumbled over the brink, indicating to where she thought the ledge they needed to get to was located.

Frank peered closely into the hypnotizing wall of water, scrunching up his eyes to try to look beyond the surge of water but Bridget could see that there were no breaks in the flow, and she offered up a silent prayer of thanks that her bluff seemed to be working and that her deception had not yet been revealed to Frank.

When he turned back to look at her, Bridget could see the indecision in his eyes, and so she decided to take the bull by the horns and with a long, deep sigh of resignation, gently pushed off from the rock formation and carefully easing her way past Frank began to search for the next safe place to descend the final few feet so that they would be on the same level as the top of the Falls and they could begin to cross.

With the sure and certain knowledge that in a few minutes she was going to die, Bridget found her whole body quaking with terror, the breath catching in the back of her throat as she picked her way slowly down and down, feeling her feet slipping on the slick rocks and the rising spray dampening her hair and her clothes.

This was it.

_**Just a few more feet ….**_

_**And then what?**_

_**How the hell should I know!**_

_**I'm sorry Kenny. I love you.**_

They had just reached the periphery of the cascade of water when suddenly, despite the deafening roar of the Falls, the whole mountain was filled with that strange, machine/animal kind of beating sound, booming and ricocheting off the rock walls, disturbing the air and the equilibrium, and out of the corner of her eye, Bridget saw Frank's panicked reaction as he too recognized the sound.

"What the hell _**is**_ that!" he screamed, eyes wide and wild, seeking out the source of that supernatural sound which was also sending a shiver down Bridget's spine as she shook her head carefully, indicating that she had no idea what was making that racket.

She didn't know what it was, and she didn't care right now, she was just grateful for the distraction.

"Let's go!" she screamed back at him, wanting him out there, closer to the waterfall, praying that panic and paranoia would make him careless and that perhaps he would lose his footing and fall without her having to intervene, seeing a chance for her to get out of this without having to sacrifice herself. "C'mon! Keep moving!"

As he looked back at her, Bridget could see that Frank had the look of a trapped animal, scenting death on the air, eyes wide and filled with rage and terror, and panic stricken he suddenly grabbed her arm and shoved her roughly out onto a slick piece of jagged rock that jutted out into the abyss.

"Hurry up, bitch!" he snarled into her face, his fingers biting into the delicate flesh at the top of Bridget's arm as he raised the knife in his other hand, waving it in front of her face as he shoved her again, encouraging her to take another step toward the wall of constantly moving water. "Don't try anything stupid! If I go, you go with me!"

_**Yeah, pal, that's the plan!**_


	30. Chapter 30

**_Chapter Twenty Nine._**

"Holy cow!" Dominic Santini exclaimed as he brought Airwolf in closer to Thunder Falls skimming low over the rapids that made up the bottom of the gorge and immediately spotted two small spots of color in the other wise uniform grey of the rocks and smoking white wall of water as it tumbled over the edge.

"Dammit, Bridget!" Hawke hissed through his teeth as he blinked to try to clear his vision and tried to focus on the blurred figures of Frank and Bridget Goodwin clinging to the rock face just shy of the cascade. "I so hate it when I'm right," he sighed deeply.

"What's the plan?" Santini asked as Airwolf ate up the distance swiftly. He could almost hear his young friend's mind working, as well as the sound of him grinding his teeth in anger and frustration.

"I'm still working on it, but you remember when LeVan first came into my life and Darren McBride tried to convince me that Sinjin's body had been found and was being repatriated to the US?"

"Sure, sure."

"Do you remember how I dealt with him?"

"Sure," Santini responded in a wary tone of voice, turning his head to regard Hawke in astonishment, recalling the way Hawke had described to him how McBride had desperately clung onto Airwolf's nose cone while Hawke inched over a cliff and hovered casually over the abyss, allowing the man to just dangle in mid air in a bid to persuade McBride to tell him the truth about Sinjin's fate.

"Oh no! No way, String!" Santini roared as he realized Hawke's intention. "You're crazy! This is completely different! First off, we've got more weight in here this time, String. We'd be nose heavy, and with all that spray and water and turbulence we'd be in the bottom of this gorge in a heartbeat! It would be suicide!"

"You got any better ideas?" Hawke demanded through clenched teeth.

"Holy smoke, String!" Santini suddenly exclaimed excitedly, drawing the young man's eyes once again to the Falls and Hawke watched in horror as Frank dragged Bridget closer to the stream of constantly moving water, saw her lose her footing and slide down the sheer face until desperately groping around with her foot she found a narrow foothold.

"Geez!"

0-0-0-0

"Help me, dammit! Help me!" Bridget screamed, frantically groping for Frank's hand. "Closer dammit, I can't reach!" she implored, looking up into his hard, menacing face with desperation. "For God's sake, help me! You'll never make it to Canada without me!" she reminded breathlessly and saw the uncertainty in Frank's dark eyes.

He was wavering, trying to decide if he would be better off with or without her, and then he moved a little closer to the edge, leaning just a little further over, but it still wasn't enough for Bridget to reach his hand.

"Come closer! For God's sake! Please!"

0-0-0-0

"Geez!" Stringfellow Hawke exclaimed again as he automatically lurched forward in his seat, as though trying to reach out to save the woman clinging precariously to the rock face, an instinctive reaction for he was aware that there was nothing that he could really do for her.

As Airwolf continued to speed toward the Falls, Hawke and Santini watched with baited breath as Bridget found her balance, steadied herself, then looking up into Frank's horrified face, reached up with her right hand.

In the next instant, Frank was leaning over the edge of his perch, bending forward carefully and flailing around to try to grab a handful of Bridget's clothes, but she was just out of reach of his grasp.

Frank responded slowly, warily stepping just a little closer to the edge of the ledge above Bridget, lowering his hand toward her, but then, just as his hand made contact with Bridget's, suddenly he was distracted, probably becoming aware of Airwolf's approach, the eerie whine and screech of her engines enveloping the mountainside, and as Hawke and Santini watched, Bridget Goodwin used the lapse in Frank's concentration, and the fact that he was off balance, bracing herself against the rock face and her narrow ledge, she used all her weight to pull hard, on Frank's arm.

Over balanced, Frank realized too late what was happening as he pitched forward, his body weight dragging him over the edge and he began to fall, head first, everything happen so fast he did not even have time to scream, a startled expression on his face as he tumbled and twisted in mid air then disappeared into the smoking, turbulent white wall of water.

"Bridget!" Hawke yelled, unable to see clearly, closing his eyes and blinking rapidly to clear the blur, hardly daring to look in case she too was following Frank over the edge and into the gorge.

"It's ok, String," Santini reached out and laid a reassuring hand on Hawke's, briefly. "She's ok. She's holding on."

"Thank God," Hawke sighed deeply in relief, still blinking rapidly. "We have to get her out of there. Dom …."

"I told you, it's crazy String."

Seated beside her, Caitlin was keenly aware of Kenny Goodwin's silent scrutiny of the two men up front and their conversation, and his anxiety about his Aunt.

He did not know what had happened to Frank, unable to see out of the windshield because of Hawke's body in the co-pilot's seat, for which Caitlin was very grateful, but he could feel the tension all around and must have been aware that it was not good, and that his Aunt was still in trouble.

She hadn't been able to see what had happened either, but she could make an educated guess from Hawke's reaction.

"What about the rope ladder?" she suggested hopefully.

"Oh sure!" Santini snarled.

"No Dom, she's got something there," Hawke interrupted.

"You open that door, String, and you'll be the one doing the nose dive!" Santini bellowed. "Take a look down there, String, there's no where to land this thing. Do you think she could hang on to the ladder until we get back to the farm?"

"She's got to, dammit! I'll go down and hang on to her if I have to!" Hawke snarled back.

"Like hell you will. You're hurt and exhausted! You couldn't hold a mug of coffee right now!" Santini reminded scathingly.

"Dom, this woman saved my life. I'm not going to let her die."

This time Hawke's voice was low and quiet, throbbing with resolution and determination and that more than anything made Santini realize that his young friend felt a deep debt of gratitude to this woman, Bridget Goodwin and even if it meant sacrificing his own life, he meant to save her.

"Of course not, String. Nobody's saying that, but there has to be some other way!" Santini protested.

"We're wasting time, Dom. I don't know how much longer she can hang on," Hawke reasoned quietly.

Dominic Santini regarded his young friend, saw the determination in his face and knew immediately that he could not talk the young man out of this madness. He let out a deep sigh of resignation, his eyes drawn to the tiny figure of Bridget Goodwin, still hanging on precariously to her perch.

Knowing that they really didn't have any alternative, Dominic Santini made his decision, pulling back on the cyclic to gain altitude as he barked out: "Caitlin, get the ladder ready then get in behind String and hold on to him, ok?"

"Ok!" Caitlin yelped in response, but swiftly eased herself out of her seat, squeezed past Kenny Goodwin so that she could open the rear storage compartment, hastily dragging out the rolled up rope ladder. Caitlin then told Kenny to sit in her empty seat and once the child had scooted over, she eased herself forward so that she could position herself behind Stringfellow Hawke's seat, squatting in the cramped space, and between them they secured the ends of the rope ladder to the struts under Hawke's seat.

When they were satisfied that the rope ladder was secure and would hold Bridget's weight, Caitlin shifted her position slightly, kneeling behind his seat and wrapping her arms around Hawke's midriff, anchoring him securely into his seat, and heard his swift intake of breath and groan of pain.

"I'm sorry, darlin'" she breathed into Hawke's ear, aware of his pain and discomfort, but also aware that there was nothing that she could do about it right now.

"It's ok Cait," Hawke hissed through clenched teeth. "Lets get on with this, Dom!"

"Ok kid, hold your horses!" Santini growled, maneuvering Airwolf, eyes darting over the instruments on the console before him, checking air speed, altitude and torque.

"Ok, every body ready? Hold on tight back there Kenny! Here we go!" Santini advised when he was satisfied with the readings, bringing Airwolf up slowly keeping out of the flow of the water and the rising smoky spray.

"String, you'd better get on the audio and tell the lady what we're gonna do before we scare the hell out of her completely."

"Roger!"

0-0-0-0

Still somewhat elated and shocked, trembling badly and breathing hard, eyes closed against the memory of Frank disappearing into the gorge and trying desperately to keep her footing on the very narrow ledge, Bridget Goodwin suddenly became aware that that strange, animalistic whining sound was getting closer and she opened her eyes to find a huge sleek black and white helicopter rising gracefully from the floor of the gorge to hover, well out of the way of the cascade of water and spray, and her eyes grew wide in her head as she suddenly realized that it was talking to her.

"Bridget, hang on. We're going to drop a rope ladder. You have to grab on to it and hold on tight until we can set you down."

Bridget's only reaction was to stare open mouthed at the magnificent machine as it continued to rise and hover until it was almost level with her and she could see into the cockpit, able to make out three figures crammed into the front, and a tiny little face in the back that looked suspiciously like her nephew Kenny.

It was then that she realized that she was getting hysterical, or at the very least losing her mind, and she began to laugh and sob all at the same time.

"Bridget, it's me, Buddy," a familiar, reassuring voice drew her attention once more, and as she gazed into the cockpit of the helicopter, she could see someone removing their helmet and in the next instant she found herself looking into the familiar face of her house guest, Buddy.

"It's ok, Bridget. You're safe now. Just hold on and we'll drop the ladder."

As soon as he finished speaking, the helicopter began to gain height, moving back away from the Falls to rise up and over the cataract, turning carefully so that it could approach from the same direction she and Frank had just descended.

A few minutes later one door cracked open and a long, narrow rope ladder came tumbling down toward her, twisting and swinging wildly in the down draft from the chopper's rotors and the rising, swirling spray.

As it unraveled it swung out of her reach so she did not try to grab it the first time, but then it came flying back at her at great speed, threatening to crash into her and knock her off her perch.

She made a lunge for the ladder, catching it with one hand and holding on desperately, willing herself to take that one last step off the ledge and onto the first rung of the ladder.

It was only a small step, but she was acutely aware of the empty air beneath and the freezing, raging torrent racing through the bottom of the gorge and suddenly she was shaking with shock and sheer terror, frozen and unable to move.

Suddenly the draft from the rotors and the rising spray yanked the rope ladder out of her wet hand and Bridget felt herself pitching forward.

She let out a scream of horror as she flung out her arms, trying to find some purchase on the slick, crumbling, rocks as she began to slide, her back scraping against the jagged rocks, clothes tearing as she slid feet first down the cliff face, eyes wide with terror as she saw the churning, bubbling ice cold water at the bottom of the Falls rushing up to greet her.

Miraculously after a few feet, her hand came into contact with a clump of rocks and vegetation and her feet came to rest on a large flat topped boulder that had been eroded by the flow of water over the years, and instinctively Bridget flattened herself against the rocks, effectively stopping her forward momentum.

Shaking and breathless, as she fought to regain her equilibrium and not succumb to the inclination to fall headlong into the tumultuous boiling whirlpool below, Bridget realized that the rope ladder was flapping around just within her reach, and terrified of another slip down the cliff face she made a wild grab for it.

Her hands were wet and muddy, and covered with blood from cuts and scratches sustained in the last slide down the cliff, so instead she wrapped her wrist around one of the uprights and then held on to the rope tightly and without pause, stepped out onto the closest rung of the ladder, reaching up to loop her other wrist around another upright on the rung above, her weight making the top half of the ladder above her more rigid and the bottom half below her continuing to whip around wildly.

Terror gripped her and she froze once more, unable to do anything except hold on tightly, gasping for each and every breath, her heart tripping wildly in her chest and her knees knocking together.

Feeling herself rising, the cold air rushing all around her, streaming over her damp face and hair, shivering with cold and shaking with fear, Bridget dared to look up, unable to face looking down into the deadly whirlpool of water below, and she found herself looking up into the pained, strained face of the man she knew as Buddy.

He was half hanging out of the chopper, holding onto the top of the rope ladder, his wrists wrapped around the rope in the same way as hers, trying to stop it swinging and twisting wildly as the helicopter gained altitude, rising up above the tree line, making sure that the bottom portion of the rope ladder did not get snagged up in the branches of the trees that lined the gorge, and she could see that he was paying a heavy price, pain wise, for trying to make the trip easier on her.

"Hold on!" he yelled down to her encouragingly, fighting to make himself heard over the din of the rotor, the whine of the engines and the roar of the water, and all Bridget could do was stare back up at him in shock and astonishment, a wild, manic smile curving at her lips as she resisted the urge to laugh hysterically.

"Not much further," Hawke informed her, as in side the cockpit Caitlin held on tightly to his waist and Santini, guiding Airwolf back toward the paddock where they had taken off, informed him that they were heading back to the Goodwin place and that their ETA was approximately three minutes.

"You're doing great, Bridget. Not much longer," he gasped out, feeling the rope ladder dancing wildly in his hands, burning the tender flesh of his palms, yet another pain to deal with as his whole body protested, the cold air rushing around his head and face making his teeth chatter.

"Hurry it up, Dom!" Hawke screamed at the top of his voice, realizing that Bridget was not only in shock, but that she was terrified and exhausted, and probably functioning on adrenalin alone. She had also gotten a good soaking by the fine spray of the Falls and that with the increasing altitude and the movement of cold air streaming over her she must freezing cold too.

"Back seat driver!" Santini cursed under his breath, fighting with the Airwolf's controls because having the door open and the rope ladder swinging wildly beneath them had dramatically altered Airwolf's aerodynamics and made her about as easy to fly as a rhinoceros, all of which Santini knew Hawke would be aware of.

However, in fairness, Hawke was the one hanging out the door and he could see the woman dangling from the rope ladder, and that buffeted by the wind and the drag of the airflow caused by their forward momentum, the poor woman was probably freezing cold and that her numb hands were possibly in danger of losing their grip on the rope ladder, Hawke's too, hence his agitation.

He didn't dare increase velocity because that might well shake the poor woman loose, and he had to maintain altitude so that she and the bottom of the rope ladder would clear the tree tops.

Fortunately, at that moment, Santini saw the outline of the cluster of buildings that made up the Goodwin homestead coming into view on the horizon and emitted a long, deep sigh of relief.

"We're almost there, String. Just another few seconds," he advised, aiming Airwolf for the paddock, the only safe place for him to set down.

"Hold on, Bridget! We'll soon have you home. Look!"

Tentatively, Bridget lowered her gaze, suddenly assaulted by the dizzying sight of the tree tops and the ground spinning beneath her, but then, suddenly, when she did not think that she could stand to look any longer, so disorientating was the scene before her, she spotted the familiar outline of the cabin and the outbuildings and her heart leapt in her breast.

She had never been so pleased to see anything in her life.

At almost the same time, her attention was drawn to something moving along the fire road, approaching the cabin at great speed, and she realized that it was a vehicle, a canvas topped Jeep, wheels spinning and sending up plumes of dust as it got closer and closer to the cabin, the driver half hanging out of the rolled down window and looking up in astonishment at the sight of a woman dangling from beneath a monster helicopter, and she recognized the face immediately, and found herself grinning.

Bridget suddenly realized that she was descending, slowly, the outline of the paddock coming into view, and her muddy, battered old truck still in the same place where she had parked it days ago.

"Ok Dom, you're almost there! Try to set her down gently. I don't know if she can jump," Hawke informed, watching the lush grass of the lower paddock rising up toward the bottom of the ladder as Dominic Santini eased Airwolf down, settling her into a gentle hover then descending slowly until the bottom of the rope ladder touched the ground and began to coil beneath Bridget.

"That's it!" Hawke advised Santini excitedly. "Keep her steady, Dom. Steady. Steady!"

When she realized just how close she was to the ground, Bridget Goodwin began to untangle her wrists from the rope ladder, and then taking a deep breath, jumped the last few feet to the ground, rolling away from the helicopter, then picking herself up off the ground, hurriedly moved away so that the graceful and majestic chopper could touch down.

From that point on there was a confusion of activity that the shocked Bridget Goodwin found hard to take in.

As soon as the helicopter landed, Buddy tumbled out of his seat, sinking to the ground on to his knees, quickly followed by someone pulling off their helmet, a tall, slender woman with long fluffy reddish gold hair who immediately rushed to Buddy's side, and then came Kenny, scrambling out of the back of the helicopter and rushing toward her like an Olympic sprinter heading for the finish line, silently throwing himself into her arms, knocking her flying backwards so that in the next instant they were both rolling around in the soft, lush grass laughing and crying and holding on tightly to each other.

It was at that moment that the Jeep carrying Zee McVey and Megan Ravenson screeched to a halt just inside the paddock gateway, an astonished McVey gaping in silent awe at the sleek black and white helicopter, unable to get the picture of Bridget Goodwin dangling from the rope ladder as the chopper came into land out of his mind as he vaulted out of the Jeep and marched up to where Kenny and Bridget were just trying to get to their feet and without preamble, collected Bridget into his strong, sure arms, setting her down gently on her feet then wrapped his arms around her, enveloping her in a warm, loving embrace as he clamped his lips down firmly on to hers, giving her no time to think, or protest, stroking her damp hair with one hand and murmuring soothing, loving reassurances against her lips as he felt her body shivering and trembling against his own.

Grabbing the blanket off the back seat of the Jeep, grinning to herself, Megan walked to McVey and the woman, handing the blanket to the blushing man as she passed by.

McVey stepped away from Bridget just long enough to drape the blanket around her shoulders and to rub some warmth into her shaking arms and legs, then he dragged her back to him, wrapping his arms around her tightly, trying to reassure her and keep her warm at the same time.

Megan continued to walk toward Airwolf, still grinning broadly as Dominic Santini emerged from the other side of the helicopter and strode quickly toward her with a huge smile on his face and his arms open in greeting.

"I guess we're just in time to be too late!" Megan smiled, accepting Santini's sweet embrace and pressing warm lips to his cheek. "Story of my life. Always get there too late to see the excitement," she grinned as she pulled away from Santini, turning her attention to where the rather stunned Bridget Goodwin still stood locked in Zee McVey's arms.

"I just love a happy ending, don't you?" she smiled softly, leaning against Santini. "I'm sure they'll be very happy. Once she gets over the shock that is," she chuckled, then turned her attention to where Caitlin O'Shannessy was fussing over Stringfellow Hawke, helping him to his feet and settling him on the ledge of the open cockpit door and checking the rope burns on his palms.

"I guess things worked out ok for them too," she gave Santini a cheeky wink now. "When we get home, you can take me out to dinner and tell me all about it," she invited with a soft chuckle, and Dominic Santini could not mistake the true meaning of what she was saying to him.

"You got a date, honey!"

Finally regaining her wits and her composure, Bridget Goodwin disentangled herself from Zee McVey, blessing him with a warm, genuine, loving smile as she pulled away and forced her stiff, shaking legs to carry her toward the beautiful helicopter and her saviors, Kenny tagging along behind her.

"Thank you," Bridget sobbed as she stumbled and fell to her knees before the man she knew as Buddy, her legs finally giving out, and he responded swiftly by leaning down and helping her to her feet, rising with her so that he could pull her toward him, wrapping his arms around her in a gentle embrace. "You saved my life. Thank you."

"No, thank you," he spoke in a low, gruff voice, rough with pain and emotion, but the look she found in those piercing blue eyes when she drew away from him was filled with sincerity and gratitude. "You really did save my life, Bridget."

However, before either could say anything more, they could both suddenly hear the plaintive wail of a police siren in the distance, and Dominic Santini and Megan Ravenson quickly came to stand beside them.

"I'm sorry we don't have time to get better acquainted honey, but we've got to go. I can't explain right now, but it's better all around if we're not here when the police show up," Santini explained a little breathlessly, anxiously looking in the direction of the sound of the fast approaching siren.

"Typical cops," Bridget gave a weak giggle. "Never around when you need them, then the whole department shows up when you don't!"

"I'm sorry honey. You understand? Too many awkward questions …."

Bridget nodded in understanding, suddenly hit with the realization that she was going to have to try to explain everything that had happened to the police, without corroboration.

"And we need to get this fella to a hospital and get him checked out."

"Don't worry, Bridget. I'll be back to clear up any misunderstandings with the police, and to say thank you properly," Hawke promised, reaching out to cup her chin gently, then he turned his attention to Kenny.

"You were great, sport. Thanks," he affectionately ruffled the boy's hair and smiled at the child. "Take care of your Aunt until I come back. She's a very special lady."

"Sure thing, String," Kenny grinned back at his new friend.

"String?" Bridget frowned now, looking from Buddy to Kenny and then back to Buddy in confusion.

"No time to explain," Hawke threw her an apologetic look, as Dominic Santini started to shuffle impatiently and a second distant wail joined the fast approaching first.

"C'mon guys, lets get moving!"

"I take it Michael doesn't know anything about this little escapade?" Hawke fixed Santini with blurred blue eyes, a wry smile curving at his lips now.

"We thought what he didn't know wouldn't hurt him, and I'd like to keep it that way!" Santini gave Hawke a gentle prod to encourage him to act, all of them keenly aware that the sound of the police sirens was getting closer and closer.

"Ask no questions, tell no lies, Capice!" he patted the side of his nose with the tip of his right index finger a couple of times and gave Hawke a meaningful look. "Now hustle!"

"He's right. I'm sorry, but we can't stick around any longer," Hawke sighed regretfully. "But I'll see you both again, soon."

"Take care of yourself, Buddy."

"I will. I've got one very good reason to do just that," he cast his eyes toward where Caitlin O'Shannessy was standing, silently watching the proceedings with an inscrutable look on her face and Bridget nodded in understanding.

Hawke stepped out of the way to allow first Caitlin O'Shannessy, who pulled the rope ladder in with her, out of the way, and then Megan Ravenson to climb into the rear compartment and then with Dominic Santini's help he settled himself in the co-pilot's seat.

Bridget and Kenny backed away from the helicopter as Dominic Santini secured the door and then hurried around to the other side, climbing aboard and starting the engines as Bridget and Kenny rejoined Zee McVey, who immediately slipped an arm around each of them and gathered them close once more.

Inside the cockpit, Stringfellow Hawke gazed down on the trio as Airwolf lifted off and gained altitude, waving back at them as they waved him off.

"I sure hate to leave them like that. They've got a helluva lot of explaining to do," Hawke sighed raggedly as he watched the trio below getting smaller and smaller and spotted a distant plume of rising dust indicating the fast approaching police cars and the rest of Zee McVey's posse from Weaver.

"Like you said, if there's a problem you can straighten it out when you come back to pick up the rental car and the Hughes," Santini informed. "I'm sure she'll be just fine, String. Right now, you need to get to a hospital."

"Ok, Mother Santini. You'll get no argument from me," Hawke chuckled softly now, and wincing as he felt the throbbing pain in his ribs and head making themselves known again now that all the excitement was over and his adrenalin levels were plummeting. "Saint Dominic to the rescue, again."

"With a lot of help from Megan," Santini reminded quickly.

"Yeah. Thanks Megan," Hawke spoke with sincerity now. "I owe you. Big time."

"Yes you do," Megan laughed. "But you're welcome," she added, casting a sideways glance in Caitlin O'Shannessy's direction and got a nod and a wink in response to her silent question. "Just don't forget to invite me to the wedding!"

"You got it!"

"And if you ever plan to go on vacation again, promise me that you will give the great outdoors a wide berth from now on!"

"Vacation! Huh! There'll be no more vacations you can be sure of that!" Dominic Santini interjected.

"Yeah, Dom," Hawke agreed with a soft sigh. "I'll shoot the next person who suggests we take a vacation!"

"Oh no, no you don't Stringfellow Hawke!" Caitlin protested in a petulant voice. "Haven't you forgotten something?"

"Huh?" Santini and Hawke looked at each other and responded in unison, both trying to smother wide grins.

"After a wedding, it's traditional for the happy couple to go away together," Caitlin reminded indignantly; unaware of the amusement both men were trying to conceal.

"Oh that," Hawke again exchanged an amused look with Santini who was also smirking.

"Yes that!"

There was a definite quiver in Caitlin's voice now.

"That's ok, Cait. I promise not to shoot you," Hawke tried to smother a guffaw. "You're safe. That doesn't count."

"Doesn't count?" Cait quizzed in confusion.

"Yeah. That's not a vacation. It's a honeymoon."


	31. Chapter 31

**_Epilogue._**

_**Three weeks **__**later ….**_

_**Bridget Goodwin's house,**_

_**Honesty, Washington State.**_

_**Saturday - early afternoon.**_

As Caitlin O'Shannessy followed the narrow, winding mountain road, approaching the outskirts of the township of Honesty, Stringfellow Hawke tried to relax in his seat, forcing himself not to think of the terrifying moment a few weeks back when the tire on his Jeep had blown out and he had gone sailing over the crash barrier and down the mountain.

As the rest of his memory had been restored to him, so had the memories of the uncontrolled descent down the mountain and the uncomfortable night he had spent out in the open, nursing a broken body and not knowing who he was.

That was one of the reasons why he had not objected when Cait had offered to drive after Dominic Santini, in Airwolf, had dropped them off just outside of Weaver about an hour ago, so that they could pick up the rental car from the pasture where Dom had left it on the day they had set out to search the mountainside for Hawke in Airwolf. Hawke had not wanted to be at the wheel when they passed the spot where he and the Jeep had left the road.

After that little misadventure, Hawke had spent the better part of a week in hospital in Los Angeles recovering from exhaustion, dehydration and his other injuries, a nasty bang on the head having resulted in mild concussion, and several fractured and bruised ribs, a sprained wrist, ankle and knee and a big dent in his ego and his pride.

However, the time in hospital had allowed him the chance to reflect on what had happened, during his little Washington vacation and afterwards.

Caitlin had been a constant visitor, as had Dominic, but it had been the time that he had spent talking with Caitlin that had been the most rewarding and they had both reached the conclusion that whilst they truly loved each other, they were still a long way off taking that long walk down a church aisle, needing time to get to know each other and learn as much about each other as they could.

Caitlin had made her feelings clear. She was an old fashioned girl at heart and she wanted to be courted properly, and Hawke knew that that was what he wanted too, and so they had agreed to take their time and see what happened. For now, it was enough that they each knew how much the other cared.

After the hospital stay, Hawke had returned to his lakeside mountain retreat, taking Cait with him so that they could spend some precious time alone and start the process of courtship, and after another few days of rest, Hawke and Caitlin had finally returned to Santini Air to help relieve the mounting pressure on Dominic Santini's shoulders, although Hawke could not fly stunts, or Airwolf, until he had the go ahead from his doctors, which had only happened the previous day.

One of the first things that Stringfellow Hawke had done once he was back in the main stream was to find the telephone number of Zee McVey's store in Weaver, calling him to thank him for helping Megan and to see how he and Bridget were getting on.

He had also inquired about Charlie Roth and learned that his old Army buddy had stayed with the older timer that he had been visiting on the other side of the mountain until he had died and had returned to his cabin hoping to find Hawke still there. He had been disappointed to miss out on all the excitement and had offered Hawke use of his cabin any time he wanted it.

However that was not the main purpose for his call. Hawke had needed some help in a small conspiracy, and knew that Zee was just the man to help him.

Now as Caitlin slowed to negotiate the narrow lanes on the outskirts of Honesty, following the directions that Zee McVey had given to Hawke over the telephone, Hawke heard a soft babyish whimpering sound coming from inside the whicker basket resting on his lap, and smiled softly to himself.

"This is it, Hawke," Caitlin told him, turning the rental car into the open gateway and onto another narrow, deeply rutted track that lead to the pretty little cottage set back off the road.

"Not too soon either. Our little friend is awake and getting restless."

No sooner had the car come to a stop than Kenny Goodwin was bounding down the track, a huge grin on his face as he recognized the occupants of the car, turning back to shout loudly at the house, warning the occupants inside that they had visitors.

As Hawke and Caitlin alighted from the car, Hawke unable to conceal the wide whicker basket in his hand from Kenny, who gazed up at him adoringly, and expectantly, Hawke spotted Bridget Goodwin and Zee McVey as they emerged from the house, Bridget obviously surprised by the arrival of unexpected visitors and Zee looking very much like the cat that ate the canary.

"Hey sport, How's school?" Hawke reached out with his free hand and ruffled Kenny's hair affectionately.

"Ok, I guess," the child responded somewhat grudgingly. "What's in the basket?" he tugged at Hawke's sleeve, but Hawke suspected that the child's sharp ears had picked up the soft keening sound coming from inside.

"A surprise," Hawke teased. "For you," he squatted down beside Kenny and placing the basket carefully on the dusty ground, peeled back the lid to reveal a big doe eyed, floppy eared golden retriever puppy, reaching in and scooping the dog out and placing him into Kenny's waiting open arms.

"Oh boy! Is he really for me?" Kenny gasped, already smitten with the animal if the look on his face was anything to go by, but he turned appealing eyes to his Aunt Bridget, silently begging her permission to keep the puppy.

Firstly she gave Hawke a pained, exasperated look then returned her attention to Kenny, simply shrugging her shoulders in acceptance.

"Wow! Thank you Aunt Midge, and thank you too, String!" Kenny hugged the puppy to him then set him gently down on the ground. "C'mon Yella, let me show ya around your new home!"

"Yella, huh? Well I guess that's as good a name as any," Hawke grinned. "He probably needs a drink of water," he called after the boy, watching the puppy waddling obediently in the footsteps of the child and found himself wondering how long it would be before it was the other way around and the child was following after the dog.

"Now I know why you've been looking so pleased with yourself this last few days," Bridget nudged Zee McVey in the ribs.

"Nothing to do with me. I'm going back to fixing those shelves," McVey mumbled, flushing bright red, but there was a twinkle in his eye that Stringfellow Hawke could not fail to miss, and he was glad that things on the romantic front were going as well for McVey and Bridget as they were for himself and Caitlin.

"He's putting up some shelves in the kitchen and in Kenny's room," Bridget explained, closing the gap between herself and the man and woman.

"Good man."

"Yeah. That he is," Bridget agreed.

"He's getting to be a regular visitor around here."

"Yeah. Big lummox, got some fool idea in his head that I need courting," Bridget grinned, dropping her head briefly as a delicate blush bloomed on her cheeks and Hawke and Caitlin shared a gentle smile.

"We had the same idea," he chuckled and found Bridget regarding him curiously. "This is Caitlin."

"Hi, Caitlin," the two women reached out to each other and shook hands, smiling gently at each other in greeting. "I can understand why he remembered you," Bridget added, thinking to herself that the younger woman was a real beauty. "By the way, did you ever find out who Sinjin was?"

"Is," Hawke quickly corrected. "Sinjin is my brother. He's been missing in action in Vietnam since 1969, but I still believe that he's alive."

"You might have warned me about the puppy," Bridget changed the subject quickly, sighing heavily, imaging her house being ripped to shreds by an exuberant puppy learning that it had a mouth, and what to do with it.

"Every boy should have a dog," Hawke grinned charmingly at Bridget, watching Kenny tumbling gleefully on the ground a few feet away with the excitable and boisterous puppy one minute, then racing him around the yard the next, aware of the pained, but indulgent expression on his Aunt's face.

"I guess," Bridget responded wearily, although there was a twinkle of amusement in her sapphire blue eyes as she watched child and dog bonding.

She had known from the very first moment that they had laid eyes on each other that it was a fait accompli, the beginning of a beautiful new friendship and that it would be futile to protest, after all, she had been willing to accept Boomer into her home, until Frank or Jesse had killed him, and she knew that Kenny deserved some kind of reward for his bravery and quick thinking during their recent ordeal.

"He's a good kid. The man of the house, now," although, from what Megan had already told him and the way that he had just seen the big man looking at Bridget, Hawke suspected that that would not be for long, for he felt sure that Zee McVey had some plans of his own that included both Kenny and Bridget Goodwin, but he knew that it was still early days.

"I know he'll handle the responsibility of taking care of the puppy like a man," Hawke smiled softly, reaching out to take Bridget's hand now, aware as he did so of the slight stiffening of the posture of Caitlin O'Shannessy, standing beside him.

"You're well now?"

"Yeah. I'm lucky. I heal quick," Hawke grinned. "And you? Recovered from all the excitement?"

"Mostly. I cut my back quite badly falling down that cliff, but I'm healing nicely too. Still have some nightmares, but I guess they'll fade in time," she confided and Hawke nodded. It was understandable and he could empathize as he sometimes still had some pretty vivid nightmares about Sinjin and Vietnam.

"Thank you, Bridget, for taking me in and taking care of me. I'm not sure I would have made it through another night out there on the mountain," Hawke took a step forward, closer to her, his eyes full of sincerity and gratitude as he fixed his bright blue gaze on her. "I'll never forget your kindness and your bravery."

"That's nothing compared to what you did for me," Bridget countered quickly. "It would have been a completely different story if you hadn't been here," she reminded, reaching up to lightly cup his cheek with her free hand now, aware of the silent scrutiny of the tall red headed woman standing beside and just a little behind him, watching the proceedings with a neutral expression on her face, but, Bridget noted, a hint of suspicion in her blue/grey eyes.

However she found herself unable to resist the temptation to touch him one last time, just to reassure herself that he was indeed real, flesh and blood, not some imaginary super hero that she had conjured up in her terror.

"I should really be thanking you, Buddy," Bridget faltered, just for a moment. "I'm sorry. I really can't call you Stringfellow. You'll always be Buddy to me," she grinned now, and Hawke realized that she must have gotten the full story about his name and his getting his memory back from Kenny.

"And I will never forget that you saved my life out there. You, and your friends and that incredible helicopter of yours, which of course I did not see and was never here," she giggled, a soft, light hearted sound now and Hawke found himself smiling and nodding in return.

"Were there any problems with the police?" Hawke asked. He had double checked with Zee McVey about how things had gone with the local police force and then he had gotten their number from Zee so that he could call the officer in charge and give him a verbal statement backing up Bridget's version of events over the telephone, which had satisfied the man.

The detective in charge of the case had informed Hawke that the man Jesse's body had been removed from the cabin and taken to the local mortuary, and that Frank's body had been found a few miles down stream from Thunder Falls, snagged on some rocks, and had joined Jesse's at the mortuary. Autopsies had been carried out on both men and they had later been identified as inmates from Washington State Penitentiary or Walla Walla prison as it was also known, who had escaped on the way to a routine court appearance and who had left a trail of murder and mayhem behind them as they escaped across country, making for the Canadian border.

Bridget shook her head gently in response.

"Thank you. For every thing," Hawke leaned in close, pressing his lips lightly against her cheek in a brief kiss. "I'll never forget what you did for me, Bridget."

"You're welcome. Drop by any time, hot lips," Bridget murmured in a low, shy voice, her cheeks flaming prettily in response to Hawke's kiss. "I know that Zee would really like to see you again, and of course, Charlie Roth's invitation to visit any time still holds."

Hawke gave Bridget's hand one final squeeze and then he turned around and walked casually back to where Caitlin was standing, having moved back when he moved to take Bridget's hand, waiting for him.

"Wait!" Bridget's voice suddenly rose, stopping Hawke in his tracks, and he turned back, frowning, and watched young Kenny scampering back to the house, disappearing inside and then emerging a few seconds later clutching a pile of things to his chest as he sprinted back across the yard toward Hawke.

Hawke recognized the objects in the boy's arms immediately and a genuine smile began to pull at his lips as Kenny came to a breathless halt before him, holding the clothes that Hawke had been wearing when he had had his mishap, and on the top of the pile was Hawke's tan leather jacket.

"Thanks pal," Hawke gratefully took the jacket from the boy. "I'd forgotten about this," he gave the jacket a quick inspection and was delighted to find that it was undamaged and bore no sign of his misadventure on the mountain.

"Aunt Bridget had it cleaned."

"They did a good job," Hawke grinned, folding the jacket carefully and draping it over his arm then he accepted the pile of freshly laundered clothes from Kenny and smiled his gratitude to Bridget.

"Thanks again for the puppy. I was really missing Boomer."

"You're welcome, Kenny. Just make sure you take care of each other."

With that, Stringfellow Hawke once again turned and began to walk toward Caitlin O'Shannessy, and as he drew close to her he reached out for her hand and they began to walk toward where Caitlin had parked the rental car, turning back once or twice to wave at Bridget and Kenny who was holding the dopey, long eared puppy in his arms, a big, beaming smile on his face as he waved them off.

However, as they walked, Hawke was aware that Caitlin had something on her mind. He could feel the tension in her arm as he held her hand, and he suspected that he knew exactly what was on her mind.

As they reached the car, Hawke took the basket from Cait's other hand and reached out to open the rear passenger door placing the leather jacket and the pile of clean clothes on the back seat and the now empty whicker basket in the footwell, however as he closed the door and moved to open the front passenger door, Caitlin slipped around in front of him, blocking the way so he could not immediately slip inside.

Surprised, Hawke took her hand and gave her a pointed, questioning look and watched annoyance settle on her pretty face.

"Hot lips?" she drawled, arching an eyebrow and pinning him with an irritated, intimidating glower.

"It's a long story," Hawke dropped his head, not wanting Caitlin to see the smile curving at his lips because he knew that it would only irritate her more.

They had a long drive back to the airport so that they could return the rental car at long last and pick up the Hughes, and he did not relish the idea of spending the whole of the trip trying to placate Caitlin and reassure her that nothing untoward had happened between him and Bridget Goodwin.

Caitlin's jealousy had been amusing, in the beginning, he had enjoyed winding her up, and Lord knows he knew that over the last couple of years he had tried her patience to it's limit in flaunting his other romantic liaisons right under her nose, but he had hoped that they had moved on from that, now that they had both declared their love for each other and made their feelings clear.

"I'll tell you some other time," he raised his head to look Caitlin in the eye, wiping the smile off his face when he saw the real doubt and hurt in her eyes.

"You'll tell me now, Stringfellow Hawke," Caitlin yanked her hand out of his and planted both hands on her narrow hips impatiently. "Or I might just revise my decision not to shoot you!"

"Caitlin!" Hawke snarled, mainly to get her attention and to stop her going off into one of her blusters, then reached out for her, pulling her roughly toward him, one hand snaking around her waist, the other around her neck so that he could cup the back of her head and draw her close for a long, deep, passionate kiss, and felt her relax in his arms, melting against him as she kissed him back with all the love she felt for him, her arms wrapping around him and pulling him even closer.

"I have to say, she's right," Caitlin spoke on a deeply expelled breath as they parted at last, gazing lovingly into Hawke's eyes as she reached up with one hand to lightly caress his cheek. "You do have hot lips," she smiled adoringly at him.

"I never kissed her like that, Caitlin. I was pretending to be her husband at the time, remember? We had to try to make it look convincing, but I never kissed her like _**that**_," Hawke vowed. "You're the one I love, Cait. Only you. The one and only. Always, and forever. Don't you know that by now?"

"Maybe."

"Only maybe?" Hawke frowned. "Well then, I see I'm going to have to do a little more work on convincing you," he reached out for her once more, guiding her lips toward his own, knowing in his heart that he had never been happier and that he was going to enjoy every minute of every day for the rest of his life, showing his beloved Caitlin just how precious she was to him and how deeply she had enriched his life.


End file.
